Blizzard: A Mockingjay Sequel
by fighterkirby1998
Summary: The story of the Hunger Games continues from Finnick Odair II's eyes when he meets a mysterious girl named Angel. But when he learns of the dark truth of Angel's past, his life is changed forever as he steps into the forgotten dangers of the new world...
1. Chapter 1

_**One**_

_Splash._

The trident enters the water at breathtaking speed and lands right next to me. Startled, I spring free from the ocean ground and into the open air.

_Whoosh._

The second trident goes whizzing above my head. Now as frightened as a sea cucumber, I kick back my legs and swim for shore as fast as I can.

I'm startled. Of course I am! Who would be aiming at me? Me, an innocent child of District Four? I'm just a fisherman, taking after the job of my father.

My fingers reach the deck and I haul myself up, using fourteen years of knowledge and power to help me. I sit there, panting, trying to register what had just happened.

_Alright. Calm._ I had been enjoying my break and decided to take a swim in the ocean. I was just underwater, testing the new goggles District Three made, when the first trident hit. That's when I acted like scared prey, springing for the shore. Now, trying to catch my breath, I scan the horizon for my attacker.

No one. Not a person, much less a boat. But where did that trident come from? Surely, not from above?

"Hey, sorry," says a voice behind me. I jump, startled. I'm about to dive in the water, my territory, when I remember my assassin.

Instead, I turn my head around and see whom it is. Trying to calm my beating heart, I glare at my new best friend. It takes a while to make everything sink in.

A girl. Brown hair, hazel eyes. A splash of freckles across the nose. Petite. She's dripping wet, and in her hands are three tridents.

I jump back, startled again. My eyes widen at the sight of the tridents. My assassin has come back…

"Hey, look!" the girl cries. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to kill you! I thought you were a fish!"

My furious attempt to dive back into the water is disrupted by her confession. "You mean, you thought I was a fish."

"Yeah," she says lamely.

"Do fish have two legs? Two arms? Blonde hair?"

"I couldn't see very well!" the girl protests. "The sun was in my eye! Besides, I had to get fish for supper."

"Right," I say. "Just… don't do that again, okay?"

Too shaken up to talk, I try to stand up before figuring out that I can't.

"Hey, are you all right?" she asks. Why does everyone ask me this question? Of course I'm not all right!

"No," I mumble. "A near-death experience can do this to people. If that trident was one inch closer…"

"Let's start with something different," the girl says wearily. "How about, what's your name?"

I stare at her, sure that she's joking. But she's not.

"Finnick Odair Junior," I answer. Her eyebrows rise.

"_The _Finnick Odair Junior?" she asks. "Son of Finnick Odair Senior?"

"How many Finnick Odair Juniors do you know?" I ask.

"One," she says. "So… my name is Angel. Most people call me Angie."

"Um… hi," I say awkwardly. "So, where do you come from? I don't think I've seen anyone like you around."

"Oh, I came from Two," she says after a moment's hesitation. District Two. Huh. Well, that explains it at least. Immigration has been really popular among the districts. Even though it's been only seven years since the rebellion, an immigration system has already been set up. Angie averts the subject and asks me, "How old are you?"

"Seven," I say.

She grins. "Nine. Ha! I'm older than you!"

Is she becoming my new best friend?

"So… what are you doing in Four?" I ask.

"Oh, just exploring the districts," she says, her hazel eyes glazing off into the distance unknown. "Traveling. We arrived in Four two weeks ago and plan to spend about a month here."

"Then you move on to Five?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says. "I'll be back to visit, though. So don't worry if you miss me."

_Miss her? _Creep.

"Yeah… nice to meet you," I say quickly, and back off.

I run away at that moment, never planning on seeing her again. But oh boy, seeing her again is exactly what happened next.

_**Four Years Later**_

"Finnick!"

My mother's voice calls me from downstairs. I jump, because I haven't heard her voice for two days. Annie Odair, formerly Annie Cresta, hardly even speaks anymore. Losing her husband can add to the madness she had since her Hunger Games years ago.

"Finnick!"

There it is again. Her soft, musical voice that can actually mean something… if only my father were here.

"I'm coming!" I shout. Today's a normal day… or is it?

It's not reaping day, which is now substituted for a lecture instead. Not anyone's birthday, not harvesting days… Oh, right. Today is the anniversary of my father's death…

"Dad…" The words escape with no permission. I automatically look at the photo of my father. Well, actually, the house is covered in them. Restarting Peeta Mellark's heart, his ally in the second arena. Spearing monkey mutts with a trident. Tangling opponents in a net. Shooting a gun in the rebellion. But the one I have on my nightstand is special. A photo of my parents standing in front of a gigantic wedding cake, adorned with icing flowers and a boat tossed about on the sea waves. My father was handsome, they told me. They're right. At age twenty-four, Finnick Odair Senior had girls falling to their knees before him. But out of all of them… he picked Annie Cresta, a poor mad girl, but a victor of the 70th Hunger Games. Two years his junior, too.

"Miss you," I whisper to the framed photo. I throw on a sweater over my pajamas and head downstairs.

My mother frowns at me when she sees the clothes. "Shouldn't you wear something nicer?"

"That's what my father would wear," I remind her. She goes into that zone when no one exists but her and the ghost image of Finnick Odair Senior.

So I calmly ease her out of the stupor and sit her down. She's as mute as an Avox now. Not that they exist, apart from those who escaped the Capitol's bombing in the rebellion.

Wolfing down my breakfast, I head back upstairs, staring outside the window. I have my father's bedroom, in his house he gained as a victor. I glance outside for one single second… and that's when I see her.

The girl.

There's no mistaking her. Brown hair, hazel eyes. What is _she _doing here? She's supposed to be back in District Two!

_Calm down, _I think to myself. _She's probably just a girl. Plenty of people look like that nowadays…_

But when she turns around, as if she knows that I'm watching her, it makes me feel uneasy. Shoving myself away from the window, I get dressed properly and try to shove her from my mind.

_She's just a random girl, _I remind myself. _Just a random girl…_

The rest of the day flies by in silence. At night, we will be lighting candles and doing mourning and all, but in the morning… it's free-for-all.

The weather even matches my moods. Damp, with clouds brewing up in the sky. No shadows exist in this world; the dark clouds have blotted out the sun. With the threat of a thunderstorm above my heads and the chilly wind in the air, I stick my hands in my pocket and walk down the street, eyes on the gravel beneath me.

Where am I going, exactly? I'm unsure, but my feet take me to the place I've gone to for the past four years of my life. The harbor, the dock where I first met the girl. What was her name again?

Huh. Must've forgotten.

I sit there, hunched together, my chin drawn to the chest, and watch the waves tossing the foam back and forth. The fish dance in the rough waves, darting this way and that. Everybody is indoors. Everybody is escaping the rain. Everybody but me.

Why?

Because at this moment, fifteen years ago, Finnick Odair Senior would've stood right here, fishing. He was a victor, all right, but he still fished. For the sake of being sane, having his old life, and I guess for my mother.

The rain has begun to fall, lightly tapping the already wet dock with its soft platters. _Tip-tap. Tip-tap. _Somehow, my mind flashes back to the tape of the 75th Hunger Games. Tick-tock, tick-tock. The rain is my clock, ticking away the time I have in life. Time until I meet my father's fate.

I am so absorbed in my thoughts I don't notice her creeping onto me. But she comes, all right. And when she speaks, I jump. Her voice hoarse with exhaustion of travel and possibly the flu, her hair dripping wet, just like the day I met her. But her hazel eyes were wide with desperation and she literally crawls upon me.

_Angel._

Her name flashes back to me once. Yes. It's her.

What is _she _doing here?

I'm about to ask that question myself when her muddy hands fall onto my lap. I jump, disgusted, and nearly fall into the angry waves.

"Wha–" I stutter, but she cuts me off.

"_Help me," _she whispers. "Please. They're going to kill me."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Two**_

"What?" I grasp her tightly by the shoulders. "What did you say?" All confusion at her sudden appearance is gone, replaced by a new kind of emotion: fear. If _they're _going to kill Angel, then somehow it makes me feel vulnerable too.

"They… they want me… they want me for the Hunger Games."

Her eyes are big and wide now, pleading.

"What Hunger Games?" I demand. "It's been eleven years since the last one! They're gone! Have you been having nightmares and sleepwalking? Because you're supposed to be in District Two!"

"Must… not… return… there…" she chokes. "Please, Finnick. Help me… Do it for… for your mother… she voted against… For your… your father… who would've voted no too… Please. You… you're a good man, Finnick. Help me."

"Why should I?" I ask. "You show up out of nowhere and plead for my help? What's all this for the Hunger Games and voting?" Fury has chased all fear from my system, leaving behind is humongous roar that engulfs my body. "Forget it," I snap.

"Please…" Her voice is so weak now.

"Give me one good reason why I should," I tell her.

"Because your father would've wanted you to," she replies without hesitation. "Your father would've done this… don't make the wrong choice, Finnick. If you did, his sacrifice would've been for nothing."

"Leave the subject of my father _alone!" _I yell. "Who are you, you creep? You follow me around, nearly kill me with a trident, you… Leave me alone!"

I storm off into the village, not looking back.

"Who were you talk to?"

So my mother was watching. "No one," I reply.

"I saw someone," I mumble. "That was it."

"What did they want?" I've never seen my mother so angry before. When she became angry, she tended to go mad.

"I dunno," I say. "Something about voting, the Hunger Games, and there's people after her."

My mother's face immediately pales. "Oh, no."

Without a word, she rushes out the door, into the pouring rain. "Hey!" I cry after her, but she doesn't look back.

Minutes later, she returns, carrying Angel in her arms. Shooting me a disapproving glance, she quickly hops upstairs and disappears.

I cradle my head on the kitchen table, not care that I'm sopping wet and destroying my mother's perfect, flawless, clean kitchen. Great. The freak staying here with us.

Why does my mother want her anyways?

So I sit there in agony until I hear my mother coming down the stairs. I dare to peek out from a crack in my arms and find her sitting down right next to me.

"You and I need to have a long talk," she says. I nod, because what else can I do? "Let's start with when you first met this girl."

"Four years ago," I mumble. "She nearly killed me with a trident."

My mother raises her eyebrows in shock. "Why didn't you tell me that?" she asks, angry. "Finnick! I've lost my husband. I don't want to lose a son, too! Who else do I _have?"_

"I'm obviously still alive," I state.

"Yes, but it'll be no use to me if you're just going to sit there and watch an innocent girl die! She's only thirteen! She has a lot of life to live out!"

"It'll be no use if you don't tell me _anything _that's going on!" I yell. Great. The Talk has turned into a Fight.

"I do tell you!" my mother has tears in her eyes now, and her brown hair seems to have lost their shine. "I tell you everything!

What _haven't _I told you?"

"You haven't told me about my father."

It's cold. I know. But my mother has never mentioned my father a lot. And as of today, he has been dead for eleven years. It's a tricky subject to talk about, especially today, and I can feel my mother's fury.

"He died, alright?" she yells. "He's dead, and he's not coming back! He left me alone with you! Are you happy now?"

"_How _did he die?" I demand. "You've never told me that. Or the rebellion. Or anything, for that matter!"

My mother takes a shaky breath. "If I must…"

"Tell me," I say.

There's silence for a while, but my mother finally begins. "You know of the rebellion. The second rebellion, that is. Our Mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen, lead us into success towards overthrowing the Capitol. But for that, she needed an army.

"Finnick… Finnick went. During a muttation attack, he died defending Katniss and the rest of her squad from the mutts. I hope you're happy now, son."

The truth hits me hard. I've always assumed that my father was killed in combat. Never… I've never thought that he was chewed on by a handful of mutts. Suddenly I find my fingers clutching the chair, and my breaths come in gasps.

"What did that girl say about the voting?" I demand.

My mother purses her lips. "That's a different story."

"Tell me!"

My mother takes another deep breath. "If I explain this, will you leave the subject of this alone?"

"Yes," I agree eagerly. "Tell me!"

She closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them again. In a flat tone, she says, "There was this idea for a final Hunger Games. Only, instead of the children of the districts, it would be for the children of the Capitol. And we had to vote on it, the seven remaining victors of the Hunger Games. Katniss Everdeen. Peeta Mellark. Johanna Mason. Haymitch Abernathy. Beetee Changeling. Enobaria Wenfill. Me."

"What happened?" I whisper. The idea, it's so preposterous, so cruel, that I don't even want to hear about it. But I must. I've been living in the dark for way too long. It's time to step into the light of truth… but sometimes, the truth hurts. Like now.

"Peeta, Beetee, and I voted no. Katniss, Johanna, and Enobaria voted yes. It was all down to Haymitch Abernathy to decide the fate of the children of the Capitol.

"He said four words. Four words that changed our future…"

My eyes grow wide and I find myself staring into my mother's eyes. Suddenly, I find myself _in _them, exploring the darkness of her past…

"_Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of four will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote," says President Alma Coin of District Thirteen. "What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power."_

_I find myself staring at her, unable to register her words. What? Another Hunger Games? Didn't we have enough of that already? It's the Games itself that took my Finnick away from me!_

"_What?" asks Johanna Mason in exclamation, echoing my thoughts._

"_We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children," Coin replies evenly._

"_Are you _joking?" _asks Peeta Mellark._

"_No," says Coin. "I should also tell you that if we do hold the Games, it will be known it was done with your approval, although the individual breakdown of your votes will be kept secret for your own security."_

_Yes, sounds very safe to me. Joy, I'll spend the rest of my life in silence, kept safe by the mere thought of Coin keeping our decisions secret… that was sarcastic, in case if you didn't catch that._

"_Was this Plutarch's idea?" Haymitch asks angrily._

"_It was mine," says Coin. "It seemed to balance the need for vengeance with the least loss of life. You may cast your votes."_

_That woman is crazy. She is. To host _another _Hunger Games; the idea is despicable. Absolutely unthinkable._

"_No!" Peeta cries, banging his fists on the table. He hasn't recovered fully from hijacking, but knows enough to a) not kill Katniss and b) understand that lives are at stake. I suddenly find myself liking the baker's son more and more. "I vote no, of course! We can't have another Hunger Games!"_

"_Why not?" Johanna retorts. "It seems very fair to me. Snow even has a granddaughter. I vote yes."_

"_So do I," says Enobaria, a jerk from District Two. "Let them have a taste of their own medicine."_

"_This is why we rebelled!" Peeta yells, looking around at us. His bright blue eyes lock onto mine. "Annie?"_

"_I vote no with Peeta," I say shakily. "So would Finnick… if he were here."_

_Finnick. They took away my Finnick. The Capitol might be cruel, but… is it the children's fault? They didn't ask for the Hunger Games. Now I'm just tearing them away from whatever hopes they have for another future…_

"_But he isn't, because Snow's mutts killed him," Johanna tells me. I want stand up and punch her in the face, but I'm no longer the Annie Cresta who has won the 70__th__ Hunger Games. I'm now the weak, crippled Annie Cresta, with no strength, no power, and no Finnick. I just find sobs racking and consuming my body, leaving no happiness inside._

"_No," says Beetee. "It would set a bad precedent. We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point, unity is essential for our surival. No."_

"_We're down to Katniss and Haymitch," says Coin."_

_Katniss thinks for a while before answering. When she does, her voice is dry, like she's been eating sandpaper. "I vote yes… for Prim."_

"_Haymitch, it's up to you," says Coin. _Please say no, _I think. _Please. The future of these children… they depend on your ability to say no!

_Then Haymitch speaks, and his voice is filled with sorrow. In a solemn tone, he says, _"I'm with the Mockingjay."

"_I'm with the Mockingjay," _I repeat in horror.

My mother nods, tears pooling around her eyes. A single drop rolls down her cheek, and she catches it in her tongue. "Salt water," she sighs. "Just like Finnick and his array of water at command."

"It was four against three," I say quietly. "You mean, in other words, the Games were about to happen."

"Only they never did," my mother says softly. "We were all waiting, you see. The youngest tribute was only two when we caught her. So we had to wait for her to turn older, but on the night of her ninth birthday, she escaped."

I gasp. Our distant conversation comes back to me…

"_How old are you?"_

"_Seven."_

"_Nine! Ha, I'm older than you!"_

Angel's face swims into my view before being blurred into my mother's eyes once more. The truth hits me hard.

"You mean…" I swallow hard before continuing, "the girl… she's the escaped tribute of the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games?"

Alright. Again, the thing wouldn't save so I'm putting comments in the Word document. Thank you for the first reviews, Hahukum Konn and d1996, and everyone who read it! ^.^ Yayz.

Hmm… looks like it's another cliffhanger, right? Don't you worry… don't you worry… Hehe.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Three**_

My mother doesn't look at me anymore, for her eyes are filled with regret and sadness, it'll make anyone soft. Even herself. She glances down at the table, and doesn't say anything.

"I'm going up to see her," I say flatly. My mother doesn't move. She's gone again, into her stupor in which Finnick Odair is still alive...

I walk into the hall in a daze, trying to register the past events. Angel, she hadn't been on a tour of the districts at all. She simply lied... because she was a refugee. A wanted criminal for being a daughter of a Capitol citizen. A tribute in the never-wanted 76th Hunger Games.

I find myself halfway up the stairs, my arms trembling as they struggle to hold on to the banister. I used to value Katniss Everdeen - she refused to change her last name in honor of her dead sister, Primrose Everdeen - as a hero, one who was selfless and helped others in times of despair. But now she has transformed into a raging beast, a carnivorous animal that put her needs above others.

She is responsible for deaths of twenty-three more children in the Capitol Games.

Air comes and goes faster now, my heart beating rapidly to make up for air loss. I can hardly breathe; air seems to be swirling around me, taunting me. You don't have to be in the Games to be a tribute. Everyone's always a tribute. The whole wide world... it's a giant arena.

That's right, I think solemnly. The entire world is an arena.

I don't know how, but I finally make it to the top of the stairs. Taking a deep breath, I walk over to the only closed door, and push it open.

There she is, the bed sheet tucked up to her shoulders, blank hazel eyes staring up at the ceiling. She doesn't say anything when I come in, merely looks at me.

"Sorry."

It's the only word I can think of saying, when I see her now, so beaten and miserable.

"It's fine. You didn't understand," she whispers hoarsely.

"Now I do." I sit down on the edge of her bed, stroking her hair. "I'm against the Games. So is my mother. My father would've voted no, also. You're safe here with us."

"Thank you," she whispers. "I don't know how I can repay you."

"You don't have to," I tell her. "The cruelty of the Hunger Games is unthinkable... we can adopt you as our second child." Of course, there's the law to worry about, but that's another matter.

Angel simply sighs. "Finnick. If only you knew..."

"Knew what?" I ask worriedly.

"My parentage..." A slender arm pokes up from under the bedspread, and out emerges skinny fingers holding something... with a start, I realize something.

The first thing that hits me is the smell. Roses. The second thing is the object. A white rose, petals still as perfect as it had just been picked. Angel's sad eyes focus onto mine.

"This is my grandfather's last gift to me," she whispers sadly. "I never told you my last name, did I?"

Warily, I run a finger down the smooth surface of the rose. "No," I say, but I already know the answer. Roses. It explains everything, but Angel echoes my mind anyways.

"My name... is Angel Snow."

* * *

Alright, it's short. But the last two chapters were almost 2000 words… so this one's shorter than average. Hehe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Since the lines are refusing to work, future author notes will be in bold. =D Yayz.**

**Anyways, I just made some… ah… very wild additions to this. But hey, if you thought this was cardboard, the future chapters will get wilder than that. **

**Oh yeah, I own nothing on the Hunger Games. All rights to the idea go to Suzanne Collins, except for those of my own creations. That was a disclaimer.**

_**Four**_

_My name... is Angel Snow_.

That line echoes in my head as I toss and turn in my sleep. Having the thought that a mass murderer's daughter is sleeping right next door... it gives me an uneasy feeling that I shouldn't trust her. Angel Snow.

But... what people say is right. You can't base people on their parentage. True, I wonder who would marry Snow, but in the Capitol, nothing is ever as it seems.

Frustrated with the fact that sleep will not dawn over me tonight, I flip out of bed and pad into the guest room. Angel is asleep, her face illuminated by the moonlight streaming from the window. I stand over her, trying to figure out her mysterious life, the hidden part of her she has never told me.

Suddenly, her eyes blink open. I'm startled, and I back slowly away from her bed, hands stretched out in front of me. A girl caught me spying on her in her sleep. How embarrassing is that?

"S-Sorry," I stammer. "I-I didn't m-mean to. Sorry. I'll go... um... I'll go back to sleep now."

I turn towards the door, desperate to get out of here, but Angel's calm voice stops me. "It's fine."

Her voice, crystal clear, reaches my eardrums and I turn back, hesitantly. Angel props herself up onto her elbows and sits up against the bed. "Come on," she says, patting the covers next to her.

I feel a little embarrassed, but I obey her and sit down next to her. Angel starts speaking immediately.

"I feel that there's something you should know about me..." she says. "You're wondering if you can trust me, right?"

"Yeah," I admit. "I mean, being Snow's granddaughter, and all."

"Maybe this can help you." Angel strokes the rose on her nightstand as she speaks. "How about... A story?"

"A... story?" I ask, bewildered. A story at midnight. How bizarre.

"Yes," she says. I nod, afraid of what her words might bring, whether if they'll chase away the nightmares or bring them on… Suddenly, I find myself sinking into Angel's past…

_"A girl, sir," says the doctor. Snow nods and looks down at his grandchild. How proud he was, staring at the daughter that shall become his whole life._

_"What shall we name her?" Snow asks, not looking up. But the woman lying on the bed next to him knows exactly whom he was talking to. Arlienne Snow, the president's good daughter, replies._

_"Lavinia," she says. "I've always wanted a Lavinia."_

_"Lavinia it shall be," Snow agrees. It has been a long time since he was calm and steady - but this is a special occasion. This is the brighter side of Snow, when he is nothing but a loving grandfather. "And what a miracle it is, our little Lavinia being born on Reaping Day. The dawn of the Fifty-Eighth Hunger Games. How... grand."_

_"Very," agrees Arlienne. "Lavinia Snow... grow, and make your grandfather proud."_

_"Indeed," says Snow, nodding slowly._

_-15 Years Later-_

_"Father." Lavinia approaches her grandfather slowly, knowing how she must be cautious about this._

_"Yes, sweetheart?" Snow barely looks up from his desk. "Be quick about it."_

_"Can I have a wish?"_

_"Wish for what?" Snow's hand goes scribbling on his notebook, his hand a blur. "Make it quick."_

_"I want to tour the districts."_

_Snow's hand stops halfway from writing a letter. "Why?" Frozen in shock, Snow's beady eyes can only look upon his redheaded granddaughter._

I want to incite a rebellion because your Hunger Games are cruel_, says Lavinia's mind. But in reality, she says, "I want to see life out there. Please, Father. Just this once."_

_"Alright," says Snow. He would do anything for his precious granddaughter - because she _is_ the life of the Games itself._

_-Three Weeks Later-_

_"What did you say?" The resident of District Five stares at Lavinia, shaking his head. "A... rebellion? You Capitol people must be crazy." He shakes his head again to prove his point and walks away._

_"Wait-" Lavinia calls out, stretching out her hand. "Please. Don't you ever get sick of the Games?"_

_The young man looks at Lavinia straight in the eye. "Of course," he says in a hushed whisper. "But how do you incite rebellions? They don't happen in a day."_

_"Starting with each district, we spread the news. I... Being Snow's granddaughter, I know the horrors of the things he does. I can't stand it anymore."_

_"Good luck doing it then," he says, walking away. Lavinia sighs. Why is this so hard?_

_"Hey, you," says a voice. Lavinia jumps, and turns around to the source of the voice. Behind her stands a burly Peacekeeper, grabbing her shoulder tightly. "Were you saying something about rebellions?"_

_"No," Lavinia says. Frightened and shocked, all she could do was to remain standing. "No."_

_"Right." The Peacekeeper shakes his head. "Well, you're coming with me, missy." He lowers his head and adds, "And your grandfather wouldn't be so happy about this."_

_"I-" Lavinia only has the time to finish this one word before a rock hits the Peacekeeper's temple. His grip slackens, and Lavinia, with no time to look for her savior, runs away._

_"Get her!" the Peackeeper roars, setting off after the girl. Lavinia's mane of red hair flies out behind her, easily spottable in the District Five crowd. Scores of Peacekeepers begin crowding out on her... and she knows that she cannot run forever._

_"Let me help."_

_The boy is back again, running alongside with her. Lavinia can only nod and accept his help - together they roam the streets of Five, eventually breaking out of the district altogether._

_"Find them," Snow snarls. "Find my granddaughter, and that boy."_

_"What shall we do with them, then?" the soldier asks._

_"Turn the girl into an Avox," Snow declares. After some hesitation, says, "Kill the boy."_

_-Four Days Later-_

_Four days into the woods, Lavinia and the boy, who introduced himself as Wilson, are running desperately. The Capitol is onto them - there is no time to waste._

"_Where… are we going?" Wilson gasps._

_Lavinia grits her teeth and says it the truth. She probably won't make out of this alive. But Wilson might. He needs to know the truth._

"_I overheard… the conversation… between Snow and someone else… he said something about…"_

"_Just say it!" Wilson whispers harshly._

"_You'd think I'm… I'm crazy… but that's what he said," Lavinia says. "He said that… that… District Thirteen… is still alive."_

"_We're going there?" Wilson asks incredulously._

_"We... need... help..." Lavinia says between rushed breaths._

_"There's... no one... out here... who can help... help us," Wilson says, gasping for air. Neither have any clue why they are together, but they're working together anyways. And that team will soon fall apart. Lavinia can sense a hovercraft approaching - after years of watching them, she knows. And then it'll be all over._

_"Hovercraft," she says. As if on cue, all the birds suddenly stop chirping, as if they've been robbed of their voices. All but one. A long, screeching sound comes out of a bird's throat and a shadow of a hovercraft comes down upon Lavinia._

_But then she notices something - two frightened faces, standing out in the lush green forest. A boy and a girl, with hunting weapons. She tries to call out to them for help, but they disappear from view. A minute later, it's all over._

_-One Week Later-_

_"I want another daughter."_

_Arlienne Snow looks at her father straight in the eye._

_"Forget it," he snaps._

_"Please. I want another daughter."_

_"No."_

_"Fine." Arlienne turns on her heels and walks away, but oh boy, she is not going to keep true to her word._

_-Nine Months Later-_

_"So... you've had another daughter." Snow frowns at his daughter._

_"Yes," Arlienne says bravely._

_"You know perfectly well that you weren't permitted to have another child," Snow spits out. Arlienne backs away slowly._

_"But when have I listened to the rules last, Father?" she asks. "A life is a life. Don't waste them."_

_Silence._

_"What is her name?" Snow asks, struggling to keep his temper even._

_"Angel."_

_"Take your Angel and get out of here. You have an hour to clean up after yourself. After that, you'll be on the wanted pages."_

_Arlienne is taken back by her father's statement, but she wastes no time. Clutching little Angel Snow to her chest, she runs out of the room._

"And that is how I was born," Angel concludes. After the hour-long story, I'm fascinated at the tale of her past, before she was even born. Shocked and left speechless, too, at the complex history of her story before birth. But...

"How does that make me believe that you're on our side?"

"Oh, remember those Hunger Games, all those years ago?" Angel asks.

"Yeah," I say slowly.

"All those sponsor gifts towards Katniss Everdeen - my mother donated all of her money to that cause, anonymously. She saw that night of the opening ceremony... that Katniss was truly indeed a Girl on Fire - sparks to dominate the Capitol. My mother's entire life was towards overthrowing the Capitol."

No.

I don't want to believe it. Why should I believe the granddaughter of a liar? The biggest one in the country? Why should I trust her? Believe her? These can all be lies, just _lies _made up by her to get her to trust me! _No, you shouldn't trust her! _My mind yells. But I can't listen to mind. I can't listen to my brain. I can't listen to anyone, anything, I can only stay as myself, absorbed in my wild thoughts.

The hidden story of the remainder of the Snow bloodline makes me get chilled to the bone. Frozen in shock, I can only stagger out of the room, gripping onto the railings and walls carefully, making my way back to my bed.

I can only hope that sleep takes pity on me and brings unconsciousness fast, but alas, the odds are definitely _not_ in my favor.

**Well? Yep, these are… very… weird… changes.**

**They'll get weirder.**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

The next morning, my mother brings the bad news.

"Hello, Finnick," she says. "Morning, Angel."

"Good morning," says Angel timidly. "Thank you for everything."

"It's a pleasure," my mother replies. "However..."

I can feel the dread in the air. Bad news. "What?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"You know what day it is in a week, right?" my mother asks.

"No…" I'm confused, but Angel answers her question.

"It's the first day of the Victory Tour," she says. "When Katniss Everdeen won the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, decades ago, she went on the tour... on this same day but years and years ago, she first visited District Eleven."

"Thank you, Angel," says my mother. I gasp. Now I remember - through the puzzlement of everything, I'd forgotten that it's the Victory Tour... in a week. One week. Every year, the remaining victors and the important forces of the Mockingjay Rebellion goes on the Victory Tour, which is no longer a tour of winning the Games, but a tour of winning the rebellion instead. But like Katniss's tour, it kicks off in District Eleven and goes down, arriving in the Capitol last. Adding on to the traveling days, it means that the tour would arrive in Four in seventeen days - two weeks and a half.

Because my mother is a victor, she will have to go on the tour.

Because I am a child of a victor, I will have to go too.

Because Angel is wanted, she can't go.

My mother and I turn simultaneously towards the granddaughter of Coriolanus Snow.

"You need to get out of here," I tell Angel. "Now."

We make Angel a hideout in a cove, where my father and mother used to meet up secretly at night. Angel doesn't protest, but she seems reluctant.

"I'm really sorry I brought down all this trouble," she tells us over and over again. "Really, I can disappear into the woods and never come back!"

"You're just an innocent girl who needs protecting!" my mother argues. "I have devoted the remainder of my life to help people. You shall be no different! I will not let another innocent die, like Finnick did!"

It takes me a while to react that "Finnick" is not me, but my father, chewed to bits in that sewage pipe...

"She needs someone to take care of her," I tell my mother. "Or how can she live? Survive? She could disappear back into the woods and live out the life she used to live, but there's no telling if she can come back alive."

"Ms. Everdeen is in Four for the Victory Tour," says my mother shortly. "She's too old, much too old, to travel the districts."

Katniss's mother. But the Girl on Fire herself had voted yes for the Capitol Games. What would her mother think?

"She's not going to let her die, or turn her in," says my mother. "She won't harm another soul after Prim."

Prim. Her daughter, killed in a bombing. By Gale Hawthorne, hiding out in District Two. Katniss's best friend.

"You sure she'll be okay?" I ask my mother.

"Ahem, _she_ is right here!" Angel coughs loudly. The two of us, me and my mother, turn to her. Again.

"Sorry," I say quickly. "But we're just... worried."

"Thanks and everything, but I'll be safe," she says. "Don't you guys have a train to catch?"

"Yeah," says my mother. "We should probably get going now. Angel, please, take care. Give us a ring if you need anything."

"Thanks, but I'll be fine," she says. My mother nods and we depart from the cove, desperately wishing that she'll be safe when we return, and most of all, alive.

But it's just impossible to miss the ghost of a sly expression as I tear my gaze away from her face.

_Again, it's short. But I promise, the next one will be long. Well, I think it's long, at least… thanks again to those who reviewed, especially Hahukum Konn and d1996!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Everyone: SO sorry I didn't update yesterday but I was kinda busy with homework and packing and such. Speaking, this is the last chapter of 2010! I'm going on vacation from the 1__st__ to the 3__rd__ and there won't be Internet where I will be going, so no updates until the 4__th__! Sorry!_

_Oh, and after reading this… don't flame it right away. READ THE FOOTNOTE. :)_

_**Chapter Six**_

-ANGEL-

... My face peeks out from the entrance to see Finnick Odair Junior disappear from view. I sigh.

Time to get started.

I'm simply endangering the Odairs by staying with them. The two of them - they won't listen to reason. I have to escape back into the woods, because any moment now, the authorities will find me and drag me to the Capitol Games, perhaps punish the Odairs for hiding me as well.

It's funny, I think. How the district people were the good guys. Now they're punishing us, _me_, for crimes we did not commit. It's the same way with the Hunger Games. The Capitol punished the districts for their ancestors' rebellion, the Dark Days. Now the districts are punishing the Capitol for _their_ ancestors' cruelty. It's not our fault. Why should we get the blame dumped upon the shoulders, for something our ancestors did?

That memory echoes back to me once more... the time when I escaped the underground facility where they waited patiently for me to turn twelve...

_"Angel!"_

_Loreka Crane, Senaca Crane's son, steps out from behind the wall. I jump, startled, as he approaches me._

_"What?" I ask nervously._

_"You're leaving, right?" he replies._

_"Of course I am!" I say. "This place is killing me. One day it will kill me. Do you think I'll go into the Games? No! I'm leaving today."_

_"They'll catch you," says Loreka. He doesn't seem to think I'm crazy. In fact, he finds me perfectly sane. Maybe because he's the insane one._

_"So? At least I can say I tried," I reply huffily, turning my back onto him. Every second costs lives. Well, costs my life, really. But I need to get out of here._

_"Fine, you tried," says Loreka. "And get killed in the process. It's a suicide mission."_

_I turn to him and say darkly, "Exactly. It's better to die in a heroic escape attempt rather at the hand of murderers."_

_I turn back to my bag, and hoisting it onto my shoulder, dash out of the room._

_Loreka doesn't come after me._

_The sound of machine guns, howling as they try to hit me. But I'm too small, and too agile. I dash from behind the walls to another, avoiding the bullets. It seems miraculous that I'm still alive._

_I've studied the facility map for months. I know it like the back of my hand. Just a turn here, and I'll reach the main gates, where I'll get to the final obstacle... but here, today, with no moonlight to guide the sharpshooters, perhaps I'll have a chance._

_I make a final dash. There's no cover now. Immediately, guns begin howling. I'm far, too far, for them to have any accuracy. But one catches me in the arm and I yelp in pain. Burning white hotness pulses up my arm. I can taste my blood in the air as it splatters over the side of my cheek. I keep running. Freedom is my one and only hope to guide me across this one terrible night._

_Loreka was right._

_This is a suicide mission._

_The doors are right in front of me. Soldiers immediately spot me and **bleep** their guns. What am I thinking of? I'm nine years old. Well, almost nine. How can I escape the entire army?_

_I close my eyes, my heart beating wildly against my rib cage. This is it. The final momentum of my life._

_My clock has stopped ticking._

_I wait for the pain. The eruption. The dousing of my life. But it doesn't come._

_The light does._

_Somewhere on the roof, a huge powerful beam catches the soldiers in the eyes. I take this chance, not daring to see who is my savior, and run out of the doors. There will be more guards out there. I can't run any more. My energy has been exhausted. The wound on my arm hurts too much._

_I stagger into a bush, ignoring the scrapes it cuts onto my arm. The guards don't see me. I lie there until a shout comes. I'm startled._

_Did they come back? Did they see me? Suddenly I realize that this is very stupid and I need to get out of here, away from the Capitol. My heart is beating frantically, way too fast. I'm going to die, either from bleeding or from heart attack._

_But the guards don't come for me. They're carrying out a dead body, and I know that it's my savior. The one who turned on the lights so I can escape. I know who it is before I see his bloody face._

_Loreka Crane._

_Dead._

_He has provided one getaway for me... with the few night guards focusing on Loreka, I sprint away from the bush, tears staining my face._

_This is Loreka's last gift to me, a boy I never got to know. He sacrificed his life so I can escape._

_The gift of freedom..._

I sigh. The memory is sharp. It was years ago, but I remember every single moment of it. I regret not knowing Loreka better... he was a nice boy. Kind and caring, who gave his life so I can escape.

Thinking of Finnick as Loreka now, giving me the rights to flee, I leave the cove without looking back.

I've caused enough trouble.

_Alright. Before you all say that it's physically impossible for a nine-year-old to escape a guarded facility, but hey, it's in the middle of the night, those guys are tired and have been on watch for years. They doubt if anything can happen. But hey – I needed to do something about it._


	7. Chapter 7

_Alright. From here, things start going kinda wacky… I don't want to spoil it for you, so read the footnote before you decide to abandon this…_

_**Chapter Seven**_

I meet people within ten minutes of hitting the woods.

Two women, long ragged hair, scorched black. One is limping, the other one wears a bandage over her eye. Both have cuts and bruises and blood all over them and their clothes... I think they got caught in a crossfire.

The question is... from whom? Capitol or rebels?

We stare at each other. I'm nervous. My heart is pumping hard. I don't know what to do. I'm stuck in a time freeze, when the seconds tick by slowly...

"Hi."

The simple word startles me. The younger women is talking. A strawberry birthmark is imprinted above her eyebrow. She is the one with the limp.

"Hi," I say back quietly. "Um..."

I don't know how to respond to their ruined state. Luckily, the limping girl speaks up for me.

"What district are you from?"

I flash back to my past. Capitol, running, District 4.

"District 4," I say. It's not quite the truth, but oh well.

"Do you know where it is?" the girl asks excitedly.

"Look, why do you want to know?" The two ragged figures are creeping me out; the Capitol now almost seems like a safe haven.

The girl sighs. "We need help, okay? It's urgent... please understand."

I nod slowly. I need something to do anyways. "What?"

"My two partners are injured," she whispers. "My name is Bonnie. This is Twill. We were rebels from District Eight, pre-rebellion. We met Katniss Everdeen-" My heart clenches at the sound of Everdeen's name "-and she supplied us... for a while. But we got turned around somewhere in the forest, and our supplies slowly ran out. The Capitol found us. We were taken down to their headquarters, about to be killed, but... District Thirteen's airwaves cut them off. Ever since then, they've ignored us, forgotten us. After a while, when we were starving to death, they realized that we might have rebel information. We were interrogated... every day, they tortured us, but we gave them nothing. Finally, someone else joined us-"

"Hold it," I interrupt. I'm not getting anything at all. "You're expecting me to believe this nonsense? Yeah right. I bet you're just Capitol people trying to overthrow the rebels again." Actually, that doesn't sound like a bad plan, but the Games are worse. "Shoo! I never want to see you again!"

"Please, wait!" Bonnie cries, but I'm already running away from them. "I can give you proof..."

Her words are fading. But I stop. Why not follow them? At least I can see if they are telling the truth... I've always been gullible, but these people do need my help...

"Wait," I whisper, turning around. They can't hear me. "Wait!" I call out louder.

Bonnie stops and turns around, a smile lighting up her face. I jog over back to her. "Show me proof."

"This way," she whispers. "I... thank you so much for coming."

They escaped from the Capitol two weeks ago. Twill is an Avox, tongue cut out, can't speak. She is the one who guided Bonnie and her other mysterious "partner" to safety, knowing all the passages and routes. She is dying, little by little, the same with the other one...

Bonnie leads me to a small hut. I walk in, and immediately notice a man sleeping in a chair. He isn't moving, but he's alive. Barely. I walk over to him... and recognize his face.

These people are telling the truth.

"How..." I murmur, but Bonnie cuts me off.

"Will you help us?" she asks.

I nod. "Take him back to the cove. I know someone who can help."

-FINNICK-

Mrs. Everdeen awaits me at the train station, after the victory tour. "Angel, she's gone!"

It's not a nice welcome home present. Not nice. The entire ride home, I urge the driver to hurry up, thoughts flying around in my head. Angel. Why did she leave? She has no home out there! She'll be dead... she's probably already dead. Refusing to wait for Mrs. Everdeen's yells of explanation, I run down to the cove.

Instead of Angel Snow, I find a man broken down and bleeding, bandages covering the surface of his skin. But I can recognize him, from years of hearing his name said by Katniss Everdeen, years of looking at his face on media, and years of getting to know about him and the role he played in the rebellion… I am staring down at the face of the spirit of the flames.

Cinna.

_Alright. First things first: They never retrieved Cinna's body, meaning that he's not confirmed as dead. Also, I didn't bring him back from the dead because I missed him – but I needed him as a part of… something I can't reveal. But I needed someone with his ability, and, well, he was right there._

_As for Bonnie and Twill, well, I know that's a major loophole, but they weren't confirmed dead either. I guess I was a bit too lazy to come up with real names, but I figured that you'd rather deal with familiar characters and know where they went rather than a whole bunch of new ones. Well, yeah… don't kill me? Please? I know major loopholes were made by this… and fine, I never thought Cinna deserved to disappear in Mockingjay, but this was a perfect opportunity… I can't imagine a stylist with more skill than him._

_Oops. Spoiler. Sorry._


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry, didn't update yesterday. Thanks to school, homework, volleyball, parents, you know. The lot. Well, I've still got Chinese homework to do and it's being fat, so I'd better type up something real quick… short, yes. At least it's a bit of a leap in the story…_

_**Chapter Eight**_

"How is he?"

"Not good."

"Is he going to live?"

"Maybe."

My mother's voice... Mrs. Everdeen's voice... they float towards my ears as I lie still in my bed. Cinna's shape isn't good.

"How long will he last?"

"At this rate... less than two days."

I slip out of bed silently. Something needs to be done.

===ANGEL===

What appears to be a rickety town of worn down houses made of sticks appears to be a glorious city as I draw near. District Twelve rises in front of my vision, and as I draw near the fence, I realize how much Panem has changed since the Mockingjay Rebellion. The fence is no longer charged, and in fact, a gate has been opened up. I stretch my hood down over my face and keep my profile in shadow as I slip into District Twelve.

The once worn streets of the ancient district has been cleaned up and decorated for the Victory Tour. Although that is over already, the roads are still fresh from the work it needed to pass as the Victory Tour.

Now, where is Katniss Everdeen?

I set off towards the Victor's Village.

They're there. Katniss Everdeen, her hair braided back, trademark style. Peeta Mellark, his golden hair reflecting back the sunlight streaming through the window. Their daughter, Rue, holds a paintbrush as Peeta tries to teach her how to draw. Katniss holds a book in her hands, yellowed with age, as she expects her second child.

My hand creeps to my knife. It's time. Time to finish them all.

My heart thuds loudly against my ribcage. If I do this, I'll get caught, and be put into the arena again, but... some things have to end with revenge.

The knife has almost left my hand with a grip settles on my hand. I jump turning around, knife raised to stab whoever dares to disturb me. I shove my nose into a man's face, dark hair swept back, grey eyes alarmed with fright. He speaks in a deep tone: "What are you trying to achieve, little girl?"

"I'm not a little girl," I growl, and without hesitation, swipe my knife in his direction.

His block catches me off guard. Suddenly, out of nowhere, stretches a longer knife. A hunting knife. The man's glare is getting stronger as he picks me up as easily as if I were a kitten. And I am, as helpless as a kitten in a sack.

I still stare through the window, at the family inside it. Peeta Mellark, the boy who voted no, yet he befriended Katniss Everdeen, the one who voted yes. They must die. All of them. But I can't, not with somebody holding me like this.

My only goal in life has just been crushed. It feels like life itself is seeping out of me as well…

===Finnick===

"They caught her!"

My mother storms into the room. Mrs. Everdeen doesn't notice, her frail hands still stroking Cinna's injured face. She says he has a much larger chance of surviving now, but he definitely won't last more than a year.

"They caught her? Where? Who? How?" I demand, rising from my seat.

My mother explains everything quickly. Angel was found outside of Katniss Everdeen's house in the Victors Village, in District Twelve. She was caught and put back in the Capitol an hour ago to face her fate as a tribute. I can't believe it, but I can't believe the person who caught her either.

He was an old friend of Katniss Everdeen. Not anymore, ever since he gave a war strategy that killed Katniss's sister, Primrose Everdeen.

His name is Gale Hawthorne.

_Again, thanks to the two regular reviewers! You should know their names by now. Right?_

_Yes, expect updates to be slow these few days… Final Exams are coming up in about two weeks and I'm particularly worried about Science and Chinese…_


	9. Chapter 9

_Oh NO._

_I've almost caught up to the point where I dropped off writing at… uh oh. Better get cracking or I'll be working at a pace of one chapter a day… Well, now you know why I needed Cinna to be alive. YAYZ._

_**Chapter Nine**_

The television flickers as it displays President Paylor, her hair tied messily back in a ponytail. Her face is white, as if anticipating the courage it will take to announce the cruel Capitol Games.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she starts out, "Years and years ago, we are all aware of the rebellion Katniss Everdeen, our Mockingjay, took on to save Panem from the horror they called 'The Hunger Games'. Every year, in punishment of the rebellion the districts took up upon in the Dark Days, the Capitol forced one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen to the Hunger Games, a fight to the death on live TV.

"The threat of the Games was finally ended when the rebellion succeeded. However, at the end, a decision was made by the late Alma Coin, president of District Thirteen.

"The idea was to have all the children of those in power in the Capitol - such as Caesar Flickerman, or the Gamemakers, or Claudius Templesmith, or even President Coriolanus Snow himself. She asked the seven victors who survived the rebellion to take a vote.

"The victors were promised that no information will be revealed to the public society. However, we must reveal the outcome. Of course, this outcome was released dozens of years ago, but I shall say it once more."

I know who voted for what, I think darkly in my mind. Johanna Mason, Enobaria, Katniss Everdeen and Haymitch Abernathy voted yes. The rest voted no.

In my mind, the events of the voting takes place. I imagine the table where Peeta had banged his fist on; the rose Katniss had glared at; the chair that held the paunchy Haymitch Abernathy; Annie's sad eyes, remembering her dead husband Finnick, and Johanna's and Enobaria's, who had no one left to love. The scene must've been disastrous as the victors fought against each other for their own opinions. Friends turned against friends, might've hated each other in the distant future. The decision changed the future of all of Panem from the outcome...

"The Games were in favor."

My thoughts echo against Paylor's words.

"Now, we finally have a complete set of tributes. Some are older than we like, but we have all the tributes, the children of those in power, at last."

It's all wrong, I think softly in my mind. All of it. It would've made sense to put the actual ones in power in the Games, but why their children? They did nothing wrong - Angel was only a toddler when they took her. Who knows how many other children they took, stolen from their homes?

I take a shaky breath. My mother doesn't look any better, but she's still my mother. I think of Angel, an orphan, her mother dead and gone. She has no one left. No one but me.

I can't go and rescue her. She must know that. It would be suicide. I can only watch hopelessly as Paylor lists all the tributes who will be participating. One by one, their names flash past me, accompanied by a head shot. Klaus Templesmith, son of Claudius Templsmith. Julius Flickerman, son of Caesar Flickerman. The list goes on and on.

_Twenty-one, twenty-two..._ I count in my head. _Twenty-three..._

Angel's picture appears last, the corners of her mouth torn down in a frown. I can only stare at her picture in the ten seconds it appears in. President Snow's granddaughter looks worse than she ever was.

Paylor appears one more time. "Also, this Hunger Games will be held in the same tradition as the previous ones. However, the Gamemakers, interviewers, et cetera, will all be by the rebels in power."

She hesitates, as if considering whether to say it or not, but says it anyways.

"We are in need of stylists."

Before her words have finished echoing along the living room, I've scrambled off the couch and out the door. Stylists. This is the perfect opportunity. Stylists get the best of things - perhaps even maps of the facility. A plan forms in my head; I can still get those tributes out. I feel a smile spreading across my face as I bound across the streets of District Four, looking for the person who can make my wishes come true.

"Cinna!"

_Yawn. I'm t-t-tired… Should be getting to bed… might not update tomorrow. I'm drowning in homework._


	10. Chapter 10

_Final… exams… in… two… weeks… I'm too tired to write… sorry, it's short. I'm making the next couple longer…_

_**Chapter Ten**_

-ANGEL-

They drag me off into the Games. I am locked into a place they call the Training Center. The bedrooms are exquisite, but I have no time to worry about that now. I need to get out of here.

Those people! They know what it's like to be in the Games, to be punished for things their ancestors did. What did I do, apart from being Snow's granddaughter? I grind my teeth in frustration and decide that it's better to use my time wisely: think rather than throw a tantrum. I plop down on the bed, but thinking time doesn't come.

I only stare down at the floor. Finnick will rescue me, I think. But where is he?

-FINNICK-

Cinna proves to be quite a hit in the Capitol.

"Cinna! You're alive!"

"Cinna! You're supposed to be dead!"

"That... that... that..."

"Am I dreaming?"

"Can I have an autograph?"

"CINNA! CINNA! CINNA! I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN!"

... See what I mean?

I lead Cinna off, away from the crowd and their hungry cameras, off towards the Remake Center. The Capitol people told us to go there first - someone will escort us to meet the tributes. Cinna gets first choice: that's what happens when you come back from the dead.

I grin. This is going to be easier than expected. Perhaps it'll be impossible to get the tributes out myself... but what if I do it during the Games? I think of the Launch Rooms, the tubes that lead up to the arena, and my smile broadens.

-ANGEL-

I think of Cinna, how I had rescued him. It was probably a good choice, because an hour later, I see his broken form walk into the Remake Center beside the Training Center - supported by the frail figure of Finnick Odair Junior. Rescue is on the way.

Three hours later, someone knocks on my door. I open it eagerly and am greeted by the lopsided grin of Finnick Odair II. I hug him before I can register what has happened, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Hold on, Angel," he says. "You'll survive the Games."

Behind him I see another man, a rebel, who has obviously escorted them up. "I want her," says Cinna.

"Snow's kid?" the man frowns. "Alright, whatever you wish." He pulls out a phone of sorts and barks into it. I take this chance to observe Finnick closely, but he has no weapon, nothing that will assist in getting me out. Cinna and I have a quick chat, and then it's over.

But when I see Finnick out the door, the joys of seeing him again flushed out of my system, I catch a quick look of him. In his gaze, however, holds specific elements I quickly swallow up. It holds a sliver of hope, a flame of courage, a cunning spark, an encouraging twinkle, and most importantly, a sly smile that reads, _I have a plan._

_Oh, and yes. I'm aware that some people from the STACKS have been finding this… feel free to say so if you're from there! I promise that I'm not a 40-year-old stalker… Um… BACK TO STUDYING._


	11. Chapter 11

_Arg. So sorry for the delay, but I've had yearbook and volleyball at school… just got back from a match today, looks like I finally get free time for once since I stayed up late doing homework. Screw you, math. Why leave me with so much homework a week before the finals?_

_**Chapter Eleven**_

-FINNICK-

At first, they try to make me go back.

"No!" I shout. "I want to watch the Games!"

"It's for the victors only, and those worthy in the rebellion. You're eleven, son."

"Almost twelve," I argue. "I turn twelve in a month."

"Twelve is too young, also," the rebel guard says. "Katniss Everdeen was only sixteen when she incited the rebellion. And that counted as young."

"I don't care," I say. "I'm a son of a victor. No, I am a son of two victors. My mother is fragile and weak, she will surely break down if she is reminded of the Games once more."

He crouches down, so ours eyes meet a level distance. "It's not mandatory to watch," he says. "She can go."

"We have to be there," I insist. "As representatives for the Games."

"I thought your mother voted no," the guard says softly. I counter with equal fierceness.

"I thought the results of the voting weren't to be told to the general public," I argue. "Which means that you owe us."

The guard can only rise and talk into his phone. After a few minutes of chattering in an accent I can't define, he sighs and looks onto me.

"Very well," he says. "But one wrong move, and you're out."

He walks away, leaving me in a silent, joyful victory.

But it also means another thing: if I make one mistake that leads to suspicion of trying to free the tributes, then I'm out of this for sure.

There is no room for mistakes.

-ANGEL-

On the night of the chariot rides, I sit in front of Cinna, hands folded in my lap, waiting for him to speak. He does.

Scars still cover his face, his hands, his old flawless skin, but his ghost of an insane human's smile is still there. I have to remind myself to look at his gold eyeliner to make sure that he's not a madman. He's not. He's the real Mockingjay, the one who brought _her_ to flames.

_No, _I think. _He has nothing to do with _her_, nothing to do with why I am sitting here in the first place._

"The Games are taking place in the winter this time," he starts out. "And you are a descendant of Coriolanus Snow. So my idea is to dress you in snow."

I look at him, sure that he's gone crazy. "First you try to burn people, now you try to freeze people?"

He only laughs, and then the expressionless face is gone. "It's synthetic snow. It won't be cold, I guarantee you."

I have to take his word for it. After all… those flames on _her _costume were synthetic. If there is one person from the rebellion that I can trust, it has to be Cinna.

After hours of being plucked, oiled, washed, rubbed, and countless other actions I cannot even describe in words, I finally find myself standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror, gazing at my reflection, at the impossibly beautiful girl standing in front of me, that doesn't seem to reflect who I am at all. But I am. I start from the bottom and slowly work myself up to the top.

Shiny glass shoes that are tinted silver, with spots of white to represent it. Barefeet, but the rest of my dress distracts attention from that and onto its unnatural beauty. The dress itself is white and silver mixed together, with little wisps of mist flowing around it, making me look pretty but not covering every last detail of beauty. Cinna says that there are tiny machines sewn into the dress that does it. I can only marvel at him.

On the dress itself is snow. Sewn onto the dress itself, its patterns amaze me. Huge snowflakes as big as my head, small ones the size of my thumb nail. The sizes vary, but arranged into an exquisite pattern that matches the pattern of falling snow exactly.

On my head is a silver tiara, on top of a pile of brown hair. My hair has been let loose, falling a few inches past my shoulders, but at the front, little braids dangle, six or seven to each side of my head. I don't know what they did to my hair, but the whole thing glitters when I move, not piercing to the eyes but in a gentle way. The tiara itself is silver yet light, with no decoration but a small blue gem in the smack center. My hazel eyes stands out brightly, their icy glance unforgiving, just like the freezing cold snow itself.

"It's beautiful," I whisper. "Except..."

"... There is no snow," Cinna finishes. I nod. What happened to the synthetic snow he was talking about?

"That's a surprise," he says. "In the City Circle, just beware of what you're doing. When the surprise snow comes..." his eyes twinkle. "Be prepared."

"What... Hey!" I cry. "Tell me. Now."

"It's more exciting with the surprise," he says, then glances at his watch. "Oh, Angel, we'd better go. We're running late."

"Hey!" I say, but he grabs me by the arm. That's when I thank every living being in Panem that I don't have high heels.

All of the twenty-four tributes will have their own chariot. Twice as small as the old ones used for the Hunger Games, but brand new. Mine is silver and pretty, with more snow decorations. Not shiny, yet not dull. Just the right lighting.

"You're amazing, you know," I tell Cinna. He gives me half a grimace, half a smile, and then I mount the chariot, cautiously aware of what will happen next, what Cinna's surprise will be.

I'm at the very front of the twenty-four chariots, because after all, I am President Snow's daughter. As if I am the leader of the rebellion. Behind me are children of various sorts - the children of those in power. Peacekeepers, vice presidents, secretaries, Gamemakers, even interviewers. I have to squint cautiously to see who they replaced for Loreka Crane. I spot him instantly, and briefly wonder how the Capitol came up with him so fast.

I can't think anymore, because with a shudder, the grand doors split open and my white horse is strutting out. The chariot moves with hardly a shudder, though, rolling smoothly out of the platform. I turn to face the front again, hands at my sides, relaxed yet prepared for what is to come.

Snow. It hits my face the moment I enter the open. I look up, startled, and see a silver hovercraft, nearly invisible in the darkness, shower down a rain of snow for me. I bask in its silvery white glory, lightly falling down onto my head, my chariot, tainting the ground white. The snow falls, not too heavy to bog me down, but just right, shining in a column of moonlight. At the front of my feet, invisible fans begin humming, blowing the excessive snow off the chariot and behind me. The hems of my dress immediately fly backwards, accompanied by the never-ending stream of snow.

The snow isn't cold, just like Cinna promised. They feel like little strips of paper, but of course, that can't be. Either way, they feel comfortable against my skin, draping itself over and over again into capes of snow for me to wear. The mist swirling around me fades to nothing, giving way to the snow and the cheers that erupt from the stands. People have been brought over from all over the place to watch this, and they're all neglecting the others, only watching me, the girl standing in the middle of a snowstorm, a blizzard.

_That's… as long as I can make it. Sorry. I'm trying to write longer. Really. Now… back to what's left of my free time…_

_Anyways, now you know why this story is called Blizzard. Yes, it's my favorite, also…_


	12. Chapter 12

_I have a feeling that teachers have never heard of something called a "no homework weekend". Humph._

_**Chapter Twelve**_

I am welcomed by Cinna the moment I emerge into my floor in the Training Center. Since the building originally had twelve floors, one for each district, every tribute is forced to share one with another one. Perfect. Let's all make friends a week before the Games and then kill each other!

Cinna wraps me in a hug instantly, but I'm not in a cheery mood. I'm as icy as the snow I've just emerged out of, the snow that still sticks on my hair. I should be happy about getting the spotlight in the Games, thanks to Cinna, but I just can't feel the happy spirit. Cinna senses that something is wrong with me, so he holds me out at arm's distance, eyes trying to get a deeper meaning of me. He can't. I'm impenetrable. Not even Finnick can know what I'm feeling.

"Feeling sick?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No," I mumble. "It's probably because of... the person I'm sharing my floor with."

Cinna's brows knit together and he nods. No mentors are allowed this year, every tribute for themselves. Cinna will act as my escort, counselor, mentor, and stylist. I feel better with him - someone who made another person rise to power, but I'd rather not be in the Games at all.

Cinna leads me down a corridor to a set of double doors. "Are you ready?" he asks me. I nod sullenly, knowing that behind those doors, is my challenger.

Cinna's arms gracefully sweep aside the doors and I slowly step inside, snow still donning my hair. I nervously have a look around the room, staring at the wallpaper, chandeliers, carpet... eventually working my way up to the boy whose back is facing me, fingering a roll in his hands. I'm about to squeak out a nervous greeting when he turns around first.

"Hello," he says. His eyes aren't wavering away, and I feel a spark of familiarity in those shiny eyes...

"Hello," I say instinctively. "I'm... Angel. Angel Snow."

Why am I introducing myself to him? I wonder furiously, mad with myself. In a week you'd be killing him, or vice versa! Stop it, Angel!

But I can't. Something is familiar with him, and I definitely can't stop after he says the next few words.

His eyes blink a few times, as if wondering whether he should say his name or not. He ends up saying it, and I soon regret hearing it.

"My name is Lorenzo," he says softly, and suddenly I get why he's so familiar. "Lorenzo Crane."

Tears.

They come to me at night, attacking me in my sleep, refusing to give me any rest at all. They slide out of my eyes uncontrollably, rolling down my cheeks. I ran out of the dining room in a furious attempt to get away, with no intention of meeting Lorenzo Crane, Loreka Crane's brother, ever again. But tomorrow I'll have to face him, and surely I won't live through that.

Why me? I wonder to myself. Why not them? Why do I have to be Snow's granddaughter? What did I ever do to deserve this?

For being alive.

I toss and turn in my sleep, but it doesn't pity me and refuse to give me its gifts for the entire night. I spent that time pondering my strategies for the Games, but it only increases the tension of meeting Lorenzo Crane the next day.

When dawn comes and Cinna's knock on the door interrupts me, I haven't gotten a single minute of sleep.

I know how to stay up through the night, so I live through the morning's training session fine. However, I still feel drowsy, so when Cinna tells me about training, I have to ask first. But soon I stand in a circle of twenty-four tributes, refusing to look at Lorenzo's direction, to look at the dead boy's brother, the dead boy who gave his life so I can escape.

I spend the entire morning at the knife station, knowing very well that I need to improve after Gale Hawthorne. A few people join me, children of other Gamemakers and political officials, but Loreka - I mean, Lorenzo, doesn't join me. Halfway through, I take a deep breath and look around. The old Head Peacekeeper of District Twelve - Romulus Thread - 's daughter is moving beautifully with a whip, almost bending it to a dance. She looks like an enemy. A deadly enemy.

At lunch, I allow myself one, short one-second glance at Lorenzo. His back is towards me, putting away the sword he had been calmly practicing with, but I stare for too long. For a single instant, his eyes flash towards mine, and I look away in embarrassment.

I eat lunch by myself at first, but Lorenzo comes to join me halfway through. He slides himself into a chair beside me, and I force myself to not look. If I do, I'll have those horrible flashbacks again, and then start crying. People will then see me as a weakling, and that will not be good.

"You knew Loreka, didn't you?" he asks softly. I stare at my food, hoping that my face isn't turning into a shade of green.

"Yes,"I whisper. "He helped me... escape."

"He died. Died because he tried to help you."

I'm speechless. Does he hate me? Why is he talking to me, then?

"I didn't know," I whisper. "I never had any idea-"

"No," Lorenzo says softly. "It's alright, Angel. I don't blame you. Let me tell you about my father... He was executed shortly after the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. You know that, right?"

"Seneca Crane," I whisper. "He let both Peeta Mellark and..." I force myself to get the name out, "K-Katniss Everdeen live. He paid for it dearly."

"Precisely," Lorenzo says, in that tone Loreka always used. "He was never fond of the Games. You must've realized that in the four years he was Head Gamemaker, not a single Career tribute won."

I flash back to the victors of the 71st, 72nd, 73rd, and, of course, the 74th Hunger Games. Victors from Districts Five, Ten, Six, and Twelve respectively. It's very unusual to have four Games in a row without a single Career victor...

"My brother and I were raised to do that," he continues. "When our father died, we promised that we'd be there for each other. When the Capitol Games were announced, he volunteered to go instead of me. They only needed one child of each Capitol resident, after all. He said that he'll ally with the most anti-Games person, and he managed to tell me who. He said you."

I continue blinking at the food, unable to say a word, fascinated by Lorenzo's tale.

"I'm only here to finish the mission," says Lorenzo. "Only here to finish it for Loreka, because he never got the chance."

I finally manage to look up at him, and his features are the exact same as Loreka's. I wait for him to speak up, but I already know what he's going to say.

"Allies?" he asks.

"Allies," I confirm.

_Just so you guys know – Angel does not like Lorenzo OR Loreka, or vice versa. Um… I should really go and finish off with Chapter Fifteen… This is advancing WAY too fast._


	13. Chapter 13

_Alright, guys. Time to lay it out there… no updates for at least a week._

_I have finals next week from Monday to Wednesday, weekend spent on studying and such. Thursday and Friday are other school stuff that they feel like bullying me with, and Chinese New Year is coming up fast. But… here's Thirteen, I guess. And… Okay, I made Katniss a bit OOC._

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

The remainder of the training days flash by, leaving hardly any imprints. I spend every minute by Lorenzo's side, seeing what he can do. He is deadly fast with a sword and spear, but cannot do anything else. His knowledge of plants are horrible, but he moves stealthily and silently, and hunts well. I, in the meanwhile, is improving with the knife, and years of living solo in the wild has taught me its secrets. Together, we just might get to the finals... but which one of us will die? I already know the answer. Him.

Gamemaker sessions are right in front of my eyes on the third day of training. I sit at the lunch table, hands folded in my lap. This morning, they had announced that each tribute will be facing one, only one, Gamemaker, instead of a whole group. Somehow it makes me feel even more nervous.

One by one, the tributes leave. Lorenzo Crane is called first, leaving me to sit by myself. Fifteen minutes fly by. They call Bryna Thread. Another fifteen minutes. Klaus Templesmith. One by one, they disappear, and never come back. My heart thuds in its ribcage, and saliva fills my mouth at a ridiculous rate. Do not puke, I tell myself. Eventually, the feeling of nausea dies down.

The last tribute is called. Julius Flickerman leaves the room. I wonder how Lorenzo did. How all of them did. The faces of my competition.

Finally, they call me. I'm the last one to leave the room.

The moment I step foot into the Training Center, I know that something is wrong. My eyes flicker up to my Gamemaker. The odds are definitely not in my favor.

The Mockingjay herself is looking at me intently. Her grey eyes show more emotions - anger, sadness, regret, fierceness... flames. Fire. They reflect every inch of her, and suddenly I'm not sure what I am supposed to do.

Get a knife! I scream at myself. Show yourself what you're made of. Prove that Mockingjay wrong.

But I can't. I can only stand at the door and stare at Katniss Everdeen.

"You killed me," I whisper in a hollow voice.

"You're not dead yet," she says, in the same tone.

"I will be. All because of you! You voted yes, and Abernathy voted yes with you!"

A flash of annoyance crosses her face. "I was aware that the results will be kept secret."

"Annie Cresta - Annie Odair - told me," I say bitterly.

"Annie..." the Mockingjay's eyes look around the Training Center, as if remembering her experiences here with other tributes. "She voted no."

"You didn't."

"I wanted to vote no, Angel," she cries, standing up. I notice how she used my first name. "I wanted to. Badly. I remember the Games, what they felt like, how I was in them twice. I wanted them to end."

"But you still voted no," I say defiantly.

"I had to vote yes," she says. Anger no longer occupy her eyes. It's all sadness now. "For Prim."

"Primrose Everdeen," I say. She nods, and a single tear rolls out of her eyes.

"She would've wanted you to vote no," I continue. "She lost a lot from the Hunger Games. She was a medic. A doctor. One who ends suffering, not increase it!"

Katniss sits back down. "Now I regret it, but what's done is done."

"You left me in this position," I say. "I never did anything wrong, apart from being the granddaughter of Snow himself. Nothing wrong! NOTHING!"

I'm shouting now, shouting out my years of anger at the Mockingjay, her choice that had left me in this position. Tears distort my own vision, and Katniss immediately becomes blurry.

"We were all children of those who did things wrong, ever reminded you of anything? You district people were punished because of what your ancestors did in the Dark Days. Remember the unfairness of it all, being punished for your parents' crimes? That's how we feel now, hopelessly lost of guidance, only being guided into a trap! The Hunger Games! YOU SHOULD'VE VOTED NO!"

Katniss doesn't say anything.

"You care about nothing," I spit out. "Nothing. Only yourself. Give me a zero, I don't care. The Games are nothing to me. NOTHING! Nothing matters to you! NOTHING!"

My time isn't up yet and I haven't been dismissed, but I storm out of the room anyways, tears flying down my cheeks. I slam the door closed and slide down into a crouching position, back against the double doors. Now I've done it. I've ruined everything.

I'll get a zero as my score. No one will sponsor me. I'll be flat out dead within the first minute of the Games. Then Katniss Everdeen can finally feel her satisfaction of killing the last Snow in line.

I can only feel one feeling right now: hopelessness. The only thing that keeps me going is Finnick Odair Junior, and his plans to get the tributes out of the Hunger Games.

_Don't worry…. I'm… uh… making the next few kinda really long. I'll go through and combine some of the shorter ones later, I suppose._


	14. Chapter 14

_Okay. Finals are over, it's Chinese New Year break, and yeah, I have time again. YAY! I think I passed all the subjects… maybe I failed Chinese…_

_So. Here's Fourteen._

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

Seven.

I stare at the number below my picture. Seven. I had expected either a zero or a twelve. But Katniss Everdeen gives me a seven, a perfectly normal score. As if she wanted things to be different from what has just happened...

Lorenzo gets a nine. I admit, I'm impressed. But his skills with the sword is utterly amazing. Of course, coming from a Gamemaker, he must have some heritage. It looks like not all Capitol people are defenseless.

"Who'd you get as your Gamemaker?" I ask Lorenzo quietly.

"The Mellark boy," he whispers back. "For the whole... berries thing."

I nod. In the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark cheated themselves out of the arena with the berries - and Seneca Crane didn't stop them.

"Well... we have interviews in two days, right?" I say.

Lorenzo confirms it. I head back to my room in despair, because the interviews will be public and I can't yell out a whole speech about unfairness. Plus, the interviewer's identity will be kept secret... I only feel bad for Julius Flickerman, sitting in the tribute seat, watching what used to be his father's spot be taken by someone else.

My dreams are not any better that night.

Preparations for interview night passes quickly, and soon the morning of the interviews are here. I open my eyes to the bright sunlight streaming from my window, and to Cinna's warm eyes.

"Hi," I whisper nervously. I raise myself out of bed and glare at the clock hanging on the opposite wall. It's ten in the morning. Interviews begin at six.

"Hello," Cinna says, in his calming voice.

"What am I wearing tonight?" I ask weakly. Nervous spasms quickly overcome me and I collapse back in bed.

"Come and see," says Cinna, reaching down to help me up. I feel slightly embarrassed but go with him anyways.

Breakfast is the usual - rolls, eggs, pancakes, that kind of thing. I don't know what I'm eating, cannot taste the food in my mouth, even the sweet aroma of sausages do not make way to my brain. I cannot absorb anything, can only think about my angle for the interviews tonight. This is it. This is the final showdown, my only chance to convince the audience - the rebels - to vote for me. The chances of that are next to zero, very minimal, because I am the granddaughter of the one who thwarted them with the Hunger Games, the very reason why I'm heading into one right now. I remember yesterday, explaining all this to Cinna, why this whole interview is making me nervous.

_"I can't do it, Cinna," I whisper. "Can't."_

_"Why not?" he asks, patting my shoulder, half-wrapping me in a hug._

_"I just can't," I whisper._

_"Tell me why." He puts himself at shoulder's distance from me. I have to force myself to get the truth out._

_"Because I'm Snow's granddaughter," I whisper. "I'm the one they loathe most, because I'm directly related to Snow, the one who murdered them out of cold blood. Tortured them, hurt them, controlled their very lives. They think it's my fault. It's not my fault!" I force myself to not cry. Now isn't the time. "I'm his granddaughter. Every single person knows my name, the only living Snow left in this world. Soon I'll be slaughtered - along with twenty-three others. The only surviving one will be left in a period of despair in which they will reflect all the murders committed - just like real victors. We're like the tributes too, punished for our parents' crimes. Punished for crimes we didn't do! That's what I told Katniss..."_

_I explain to Cinna about my training period._

_"But this time, it'll be different. I can't exactly throw those words into the crowd. I can't do that, Cinna! They'll never listen to me! They think... they think... they think I'm the beast that Snow provided himself! They hate me! Hate me! HATE ME!"_

_Cinna doesn't say anything for a while. Then he speaks in a calm voice, sounding quiet and solemn to me pained ears._

_"That's exactly what Katniss Everdeen felt like, you know," he says. "She felt the same thing. But she still managed through the interviews. You can, too, Angel. Master your fears. Master the crowd. Turn their hate into love." He leans in closer. "Angel, make them like you."_

Make them like me. Today I have to appear likable. Yeah, right. Like I can do that. I can't. I'm the granddaughter of a CRIMINAL. How can I act likable? I am not Peeta Mellark, I am Katniss Everdeen, a fierce determined girl. I can't be likable.

But I must. If I'm to survive these Games, then I have to overpower the crowd. Turn their hate into love for me, the one relative of Coriolanus Snow. I have to control them and make their hate mine.

Tonight is the time to do it.

_Okay, just laying it out here so you can have some head start, Chinese New Year is coming up fast, and I'm leaving on February 4__th__ and coming back on February 12__th__, hopefully get an update on February 13__th__. Just saying._


	15. Chapter 15

_Again, don't forget, no updates from February 4__th__ to February 12__th__! But yeah… I'll really try to get another chapter in, but these days I'm really busy with Chinese New Year prep…_

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

For the remainder of the day, I'm totally lost on what I should do. I end up back in my room, flat out on my bed, counting the number of dots on the ceiling.

I lie there for hours, as still as a rock, waiting for six o'clock to dawn onto me. Six o'clock is when I go live on Panem, doused in petals of white flowers, showering me in the silvery glory of my victory on the day of the opening ceremony. The clock seems to go at an irregular pace, five minutes passing sometimes within five seconds, but sometimes can stretch up to five hours.

Tick tock, tick tock. I've heard stories of the clock arena, ticking away the hours of life for the tributes. My arena might not be a clock, but they'll be one in my head, quietly tick-tocking in my mind, at daytime, at night, at midnight, at dawn. Every day, rushing away its cycles, awaiting my death when it can be free at last.

I lie there, and have counted up to 3,428 dots on the ceiling before getting tired. I sit, rubbing my eyes and adjusting to the new landscape of something not freckled ceilings. I glance at the clock: 11:30 AM.

Eleven thirty. How can time crawl by so slow? Only two hours have passed since I first stared counting, but time seems to freeze. Of course, I want it to go slower, because tomorrow, at this time, I'll be in the Games.

Dread claws at my stomach and it growls nervously. Lunch. I obey its orders and rise, robotically opening my room's wooden door and walk into the cafeteria in a daze. I peer through the windows in the doors before heading in, and although the elegant tables are already set up with scarlet tablecloths and magnificent food, no one is present. I'm about to shrug and push open the door anyways to help myself when I hear murmuring coming from behind the doors.

My heart beats frantically, but it's already too late. The door swings open silently and eerily, without a creak. I immediately spot the source of the voice: two humanoid figures sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, away from the window. I make out Cinna's figure immediately, but with him is Katniss Everdeen.

Neither notice me, fortunately. I silently step inside but prop the door open with my right foot, not wanting the sudden bang of the door shutting against its frame interrupt Katniss and Cinna's conversation. I'm suddenly very curious about what the two would be talking about, after not seeing each other for years and assuming that Cinna is dead.

"You really put a hard time into her costume," Katniss says quietly. By the term "her" I can guess that she means me.

"I do every year," Cinna says in the same solemn tone.

"But snow and fire... I've heard that the two should never be mixed."

Cinna shrugs it off. "My life's goal is to overrule the Capitol, but that has been done. The rebel government controls the Games now. My job now is to keep one tribute alive. Giving her a starring entrance at the Games is how do to that."

"Cinna..." Katniss's hands stretch out, stroking Cinna's face, still scarred with burns and angry hands. "You seem... different."

"It's not me who's different, Katniss. It's you."

Katniss's face is blank at first, as if she had just taken a slap across the face. "What do you mean?" she whispers.

"Years spent in imprisonment and years spent as a fugitive, it takes a general toll on your body as you look outside and see how the world's been changed. I look out there and I don't see peace. I see the Hunger Games the rebels have created."

Katniss's face doesn't show any emotion. Her eyes betray her poker face, though, swimming with worry and regret. Her grey eyes seem to pool with tears, sliding down her cheeks. "Cinna. I explained the very same thing to Angel. I was upset over Prim, okay? I regret that decision more than ever now, but it's too late to change it."

"You can, Katniss," Cinna says. "You still can. I'm proud of you, Girl on Fire, but I'll be more proud of you when you call off the Games. Talk to Paylor. I'm sure that she can help. All it takes is one sentence and you can save twenty-three lives."

Katniss's head drops, her braid falling over her shoulder, tears dripping into her lunch. I can almost smell the saltiness of regret hanging in the air, contaminating the room as if it were a disease. I hold my breath, waiting for Katniss's reply.

"No."

No. The single word ends my last hope for freedom. I refuse to let myself cry, though, and tell myself to beat Cinna to the next line.

"Cinna's right," I whisper hoarsely. "We didn't change. You did, Mockingjay."

Both of them turn around, or raise their heads, to look at me. But I'm already gone, flying away in a wave of shame. I arrive at the food table and grab a random bowl of something, and sit down alone at a table directly opposite of Katniss's, alone by myself, regretting what I've just done.

But the next time I see Katniss, after lunch, she looks at me in the eye, but doesn't say anything before hurrying off. I'm confused over what flies around in the Mockingjay's head, but I'm not about to ask, either.

_In the next chapter, the real fun begins._


	16. Chapter 16

_Alright… as an apology for no updates for a week… I'm going to put on every single chapter I've written, which is up to Chapter Seventeen. Oh, and if there's any fans of the Trauma Center games out there, be sure to check out the Trauma Team fanfic I've been working on with mockingjayfire, under the co-username of TwistedJabberjays!_

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

"So, Angel, word on the street is saying that you're President Snow's granddaughter, am I right?" Plutarch Heavensbee's glittering eyes shine at me, cold and unforgiving.

"Why would you be asking that in the first place?" I shoot back. "Are you so stupid that you're asking about your own tribute's ancestry in front of the entire nation?" I shake my head in disgust and lean back in my chair.

Plutarch is lost for words, but he quickly recovers. "Very well, Angel," he says. "You are quite smart, even smarter than me, which is really saying something." A big laugh emits from the audience, but I don't laugh with them. In fact, I say nothing, and the silence gets eerie until Plutarch decides to speak again.

"So cunningness is your strategy in the Games?"

My eyes flash dangerously. "Am I really that dumb to fall for your trick? What tribute would reveal her strategy in front of twenty-three others, just waiting to kill her? No, I don't think so."

"True, true," Plutarch says, barely holding it together. "But Angel, keep in mind, only one winner will come out of this. So save your smarts."

"I know there's only one winner," I say. "And I intend for that to be me."

"How are you going to achieve that?"

I glare at him. "Really? Didn't I just say that I'm not saying anything? So zip it."

Plutarch zips his mouth and throws away the key, giving the audience another boost for laughter. I pick up the "key" and eat it.

Plutarch folds to his knees, begging for his "key" back, making a bunch of ridiculous noises with his lips minced shut, pleading to talk. I lean down and slap him across the face. I know that I'm not supposed to be harming the interviewer, but I can't help it. This guy is such a jerk, but then again, almost everyone is.

"Alright, enough of that," Plutarch says, cradling his angry cheek. "Angel, how do you feel about getting in the Games?"

"Can't you guys think of better questions?" I ask. "I've heard that questions so many times I can imitate it in my sleep. Ever heard of something called originality?"

"No," Plutarch says. "Why don't you teach that to us?"

"What an unoriginal reply," I say back. "Really, Plutarch, an old Head Gamemaker can't even outsmart a tribute."

"But you are Snow's granddaughter," he says. "You must've inherited some smarts from him."

"And you are the grandson of a random hobo on the street," I shoot back. "You inherited his stupidity."

"We're all stupid out here, Angel!" Plutarch spreads his hands out in a ridiculous pose, a grin spreading across his face. "We need you to teach us what it means to live in a hole of stupidity!"

"That's the arena," I say. "And the other tributes need it."

I point at the twenty-three other tributes, at their mouths all wide open in shock of me abusing my interviewer.

"See?" I say. "They can't even absorb my words. I'll teach you what it means to live: to remember your good times before you find my knife down your throat. You will experience that tomorrow, and I warn you: I give no mercy."

The buzzer rings, and I step off the stage in disgust. However, before I do, I "accidentally" knock the microphone out of Plutarch's hand. The new anthem of Panem plays, and all the tributes rise.

Tomorrow, the Games begin. Tomorrow, I will turn from an innocent girl to a murderer.

Tomorrow...

Tomorrow...

Tomorrow...

Today.

Today is the day of the Games. Today I shall meet my doom. Today I shall be locked inside a hole of stupidity.

Today, I wave goodbye to Cinna, the last non-tribute I will see, and most likely the last one I will ever see. For the entire trip, I have noticed that something is wrong with Cinna, something different. But I can't figure out what... either way, Cinna, weird or not, is going to be left in my memory.

Standing inside the tribute glass tube, I press my hands against the cold, unforgiving glass. My forehead gently touches the pane, absorbing its coolness, helping to cool my fevering forehead. Cinna's palms rest on the other side, lips whispering a goodbye I will never hear.

The tube begins to rise.

Panic quickly settles in my heart. Don't be afraid, I tell myself. Don't be afraid.

I repeat this line to myself, head tilted up at the upcoming hole of daylight. The arena's sun meets me and blinds me instantly, and I shake my head, eyes shut. I end up looking down at the last of Cinna's face in the Launch Room, and finally realize what's wrong with him.

Even in the duration of afterimages from the sun, I can make out Cinna's eyes. Actually, I can make out the space above Cinna's eyes, noting the absence of golden eyeliner.

Then his face disappears from view, and I'm blinking away the last few afterimages. The arena is around me immediately, the tribute plates settling to a solid stop. I hear a beep, sounding the mines' activation, but above that, the welcoming line.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Capitol Games begin!"


	17. Chapter 17

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

Tick tock, tick tock. I stand on my tribute plate, a silhouette of a brave and strong warrior preparing for battle. Inside, though, I'm quivering.

Tick, tock. I look around, leaving an imprint of the arena in my mind. Tick, tock. It doesn't take people a while to realize what the arena is: a maze.

We are closed in, a giant wall making a round cage around us. Passageways lead in and out from it, crisscrossing their way like ants making tunnels, forming a giant maze that will be our arena. IS our arena.

Twisting and turning, I peer at a passageway directly behind me. Its shadows are dark and unwelcoming to the tributes' presence. I'm not looking forwards to claiming it as mine, but I'd rather do that than try and take over the arena.

I spin around on my plate, looking for my ally. Tick, tock. Time is running out. I estimate that I have about half a minute left before the killing starts, before the shedding of innocent blood begins to contaminate the ground.

Lorenzo Crane stands three plates away from me, his dark form standing proudly, his mind probably already thinking of strategies. He is the son of a Gamemaker, and Gamemakers tend to cause trouble.

Tick, tock. The seconds pass away slowly yet quickly. I look at the Cornucopia, now. Almost all the bags have a knife in them. Lorenzo told me that once. He is the one who should know the Games well, but as a tribute? I don't think so.

I'm not sure what my angle should be. I acted like a Career when I was interviewed by Plutarch Heavensbee, but on the inside, I'm just a scared, cowardly girl. But I swallow my fear and just stare at a dark green backpack that lies halfway between the Cornucopia and me. It doesn't seem like much, so I look for other things near its vicinity. My eyes have landed on a much larger bag within two meters of the smaller one when the gong rings.

Like a race, all the tributes that have been standing tensely on their plates dart forwards, springing off the Cornucopia and into the bloodshed. I follow the mass, trying to blend in as a small girl and hoping that no one can see me in the midst of battle. Of course, they do.

I have just snatched up the large bag when something - someone - slams onto my back. Small as I am, I'm knocked to the ground, the big bag still clutched in my hands. I groan and flip over onto my back, eyes looking for my assassin.

A murderous looking boy - I don't remember his name - stands over me, knife raised. I don't understand why he didn't stab me in the first place, but some people are rash. But in situations like this, I need to act rash.

I know that I can't knock the boy off balance now, because he's hardly a boy, more like a man. A grown-up man. He looks older than eighteen, actually, but he still is a child of someone in power. A strong one. I act with instincts and use my bag as a shield, just as his knife strikes down.

A loud crunch echoes in my ears and my elbows almost collapse to the ground. However, this gives me enough time to scramble up, using surprise as my advantage and shoving my bag at him, hard. He thuds to the ground, and I hear a familiar voice talking.

"Don't you dare," Lorenzo whispers, who has materialized by my side. I turn around, fearing that he has betrayed me, but see that he is actually talking to my assassin. I force myself to take a deep breath and pick up the bag again, then run over, and grab a smaller one. Lorenzo already has a pair of broadswords and a spear strapped to his back. I notice that he has no bag, though, and I'm thankful that I had the foresight to grab two.

"Angel!" Lorenzo yells. "Go! I'll catch up!"

I nod and run eagerly out of the bloodbath. The big bag is much too heavy for me, but I grit my teeth and hoist it over my shoulder. Somehow, I make it over to the nearest passage that leads out of the Cornucopia Clearing. I keep running, though, because five meters in, there's a turn. I settle there, gasping for air, waiting for my breathing to return to normal. I peer around the corner, and immediately spot Lorenzo fighting with the other tribute. I grit my teeth and watch as Lorenzo bends his broadswords to his will, almost dancing with it. However, the opponent suddenly has a sword too, and is parrying the hits away as fast as Lorenzo can make them. I decide that someone needs help.

I drop the two bags I have been carrying and pull out the boy's knife, still stuck to a big bag. It's risky putting it there, but Lorenzo matters more than two bags of supplies.

I immediately dash forwards and spin the knife in my hands. However, within five meters of the brawl, I slow down to a sneak. Lorenzo and his opponent are both swirling around, taking no notice but each other. I silently walk up, knife raised, but at the last minute, Lorenzo notices me and his eyes light up.

That could've ended in several scenarios. His surprise means that his defense falls low, and he could've died right then. But he didn't. In fact, what happened is that the opponent falters too, wonder what could've made Lorenzo pause in the middle of a heated fight. He turns, and finds my knife in his face.

I pull out my knife, trying not to look at a gush of blood flowing down the metallic sides. "Let's go," I tell Lorenzo. "Now."

He nods. "Where are your stuff?"

"In the maze," I tell him. "And we need to get out of here."

Without a word, we sprint into the passageway, and disappear into the shadows of the arena.

When I was young, my mother used to tell me about my sister. Tonight, eyes staring wide at the open sky above, I recall those stories. Her name was Lavinia, and she was the light to her life. But Lavinia was killed, for the very reason why three people died at the District Eleven Shooting, the cause of rebellion. I'm determined to avenge Lavinina, or at least do what she never finished. Lorenzo and I, we share something in common, despite our personalities: we have both lost a loved one, a sibling, who had tried to make a difference.

Lavinia. Loreka. Two innocent kids, kids who died so we can take their place in the Hunger Games. But we're taking more of their places, too, because we're going to finish what they never had the chance to do.

===FINNICK===

I watch the tributes dart off their plates, and stare at Angel whenever she appears onscreen. So to say, most of the time.

My mind is racing. I need to get those tributes out of the arena, and quickly. But everything falls onto an eleven-year-old boy, with an insane mother and a dead father. But I'm just fighting for what my father fought for: freedom and justice, the right to be free, for fairness.

I don't have an arsenal of hovercrafts to fish the tributes out. I don't have a lot of money, to sponsor something useful to Angel and Lorenzo. But what I do have is Cinna, who fights for the same cause as I do.

Angel. Lorenzo. Cinna. Me. The only four people left on the face of Earth - or at least, as far as I know - who actually care, who actually remember the cruelty of the Games in the first place.

So at dinner, I elusively slip away from the table and join Cinna at another one. We're eating at the Training Center cafeteria, so everyone eats together. I quietly explain to Cinna about everything, about my plan to bust the tributes out of the arena. The metal plates, those are the keys to everything. From the Launch Room, they can lead to freedom.

Cinna thinks about this for a while. "Alright," he decides. "I'll help you."

I never thought that this would be so easy. I join my table again as if I never left, thoroughly relieved, but it's not until later do I realize that there was a little red light that signifies the existence of a camera, a camera making every little effort to spy on the two of us.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Chapter Eighteen**_

===FINNICK===

Cinna and I make preparations throughout the night, in the bathrooms, the only place where they don't have cameras. No one disturbs us, because when you see a bathroom door that's locked and bolted, you wouldn't want to go inside, would you?

So we talk, and talk. After three days into the Games, we finally come up with a plan.

However, it all depends on luck. What we need desperately is something that will draw in the tributes to the Cornucopia, something that people call... a feast.

For a feast to happen, there has to be no blood for a long while. Thirteen tributes are already dead in four days, the once full mass of twenty-four dwindling down to an eleven. Angel and Lorenzo are both alive, but they might not be, soon. This has to happen fast. Waiting for the Games to be over is only going to add fuel to the districts' flames, cheering their victory over the Capitol again.

No blood, but how do I achieve that?

I can only cross my fingers and wait, hoping that fate will help out, and it does.

===ANGEL===

Eight days into the Games, and me and Lorenzo are already starving.

Our food supply has completely run out, leaving us to starve. Within hours, my stomach is complaining. The maze sometimes lead to a mini forest, and we've been able to shoot some game, but something always chases us out. I guess it's the Gamemakers, not wanting us to stay in a food zone.

But we haven't stumbled upon those forests in days, and no tributes either. The only two encounters we've had were both victorious, though not easily. My right arm is completely bandaged, which is bad news, because I'm right-handed. Lorenzo has it worse; his left wrist has been slashed with a knife, and now, he can't fight with two swords, only one.

There are only eight tributes left in the Games; needless to say, the strongest of all of them is Bryna Thread, and from a few glimpses we've had of her, she has several whips strapped to her back, ready for use at any moment. All Lorenzo and I have is a bottle of water that's rapidly going down our throats, and our weapons: three knives and a pair of twin swords. No supplies. No food.

On the tenth day, no blood has spilled for forty-eight hours straight. Something will happen, and something does.

Right in front of our eyes, a huge brick wall slams down in front of us, the exact width of the corridor. I stare, wide-eyed at the three-meter distance in between the wall and us. We were this close to being squashed.

"What in the world...?" Lorenzo curses, drawing his twin swords. I grip my knife tightly, waiting for something to happen.

"Something's happening," I whisper. And something does.

Without warning, the wall begins to slide forwards, pushing Lorenzo and me back. I fall with a yell, but I don't get run over. Instead... I slide backwards on my back, dirt and sand covering my already tangled brown hair. Lorenzo is no different, his hands clutching his weapons as if it is his lifeline. In this case, it is.

I try to scramble up, and try to get over the wall. But nothing happens; the wall covers the entire width of the corridor, and is just as high. It goes too fast to outrun, and I can feel our doom coming.

I twist my body around, glaring at yet another wall - a stable one, thank god - coming up. Soon we'll be crushed. The only way out of the two colliding walls and being sandwiched is to run outside of the colliding area, because if things were normal, the maze would be simply a turn to the right.

"Run to the right the moment we reach that next hall!" I yell to Lorenzo. Somewhere far away, I can hear the screams and wails of other tributes. The Gamemakers are definitely playing up things here.

"Okay!" Lorenzo shouts back, and we both scuttle to the right...

The next corridor comes up, and I bolt for the right immediately. Lorenzo follows, but something stops him. He rises, takes a step, and falls over flat on his face.

He swears loudly, and glare at his swords. The blade of one is stuck under the moving wall, and Lorenzo is trying to retrieve it. The wall does seem to be slowing down, though... but in a matter of seconds, Lorenzo will be crushed.

"Run!" I scream. "Now! You can only fight with one sword anyways!"

Lorenzo curses again, but ditches the sword. He looks up, and realizes that it's too late.

Then, suddenly, the moving wall stops about three meters from the stationary one. I give a gasp of shock... because the wall stopped in the exact place that morphs it into the other, still walls.

Suddenly, the wall behind us gives a rumble, and that, too, starts moving. Speechless, I can only watch it slam into us and give us the same ride the previous wall did. My eyes connect with Lorenzo's, and we both realize the same thing, at the same time.

"This maze is alive," I breath.

After what seems like hours of slamming, sliding, running, and panting, we can see a clearing up ahead.

I know what it is. I knew it all along, because one day, the Gamemakers would drive us all here.

The golden Cornucopia sits in front of us, marks of battle still raging around it. However... what I notice isn't the Cornucopia, even as the wall finally settles to a stop, leaving us with no escape route. This is it.

I look to my left, and see one tribute. To my right is another one. The Cornucopia blocks off the rest of my vision, but I know that there's others. Eight of us, all here, in the Cornucopia.

We look at each other, fingers drawing our swords, arrows, knives, spears, and whips. We look at the Cornucopia, eerily deserted, void of supplies. We then look at the blood spilled on the ground that's been there since the fights on day one, and we know what we're supposed to do.

"Three deaths are required before you may leave," a loud voice booms. "Three deaths."

With that line, we charge forwards and fight.

===FINNICK===

"Get ready," I whisper to Cinna. We've already sneaked into the Launch Room, although whose it is, I don't know. The point is, this is it. We can still save eight tributes.

Cinna nods and he reaches for the control levers. He quickly toggles the settings for the metal plate to come down, and I stand on it.

Most likely, I'll die up there.

But this is the only way to get the districts' attention.

Just before Cinna moves the lever up, I realize something, and suddenly give a gasp. Something isn't right. Something is off.

"Cinna," I whisper. "Where's your eyeliner?"

* * *

Yeah, I know. I skipped a lot of days, but as you all know, I am big fail at writing Games.

*jealous of fantasyreader123* WHY DOESN'T SHE GET WRITER'S BLOCKS? Arg!


	19. Chapter 19

_**Chapter Nineteen**_

===ANGEL===

I fight viciously with the smallest tribute I can see, someone just a bit taller than me, yet more clumsy. I recognize her as the daughter of my grandfather's head advisor. I do not know her name, but when a fight comes down to the death, you don't need to know her name, do you?

I grit my teeth and strike out with a knife, which she parries away and returns the jab with her own blade. Like this, we continue, me barely avoiding death. I get scrapes and cuts on my arms and legs, but I do not stop.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I spot Lorenzo battling fiercely with Bryna Thread. His shoulder might be injured, but he is as deadly as ever, making his one sword bend to his will as he tries to cut through Thread's whips. I somehow let this moment distract me, and before I know it, my opponent has me down on my back, a knife glistening in my face.

I can see tears welling in her eyes. "I do not want to do this," she chokes, "But I must. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

My eyes slither over to Lorenzo, who is still engaged in battle. He can't help me, not if he doesn't want to die myself. I can feel pain burning in the areas I had gotten injured in, and warm blood trickles down my pale skin. I close my eyes slowly as the girl raises her knife to the sky.

Then, I hear a scream.

Not mine.

_It's just someone else's,_ I think sleepily. _I'm going to die soon, anyways... just let me sleep... in peace..._

Then, all the weight tumbles off my legs as the girl rolls off, still screaming. I open my eyes drearily, and I find the girl miraculously with a knife in her back as she chokes and sobs, blood seeping into the ground. My eyes widen as I look around for my mysterious savior.

When I do, all the breath is knocked out of me. _No. It can't be. What... what is he doing here?_

His blonde hair is ragged and filthy, and a portion of his face is hidden in shadow, but it's him. I can recognize him anywhere.

"Finnick?" I breathe.

Yes, it's him. Finnick Odair II, his sea green eyes shining with determination, and hidden inside, a blade of resolve. I scramble to my feet as he lets out the loudest roar I have ever heard him speak.

"STOP!" he shouts. This alien voice shudders through the arena like a ripple splashing across the pond. Slowly, one by one, all the tributes stop fighting and lower their weapons, staring in shocked silence at the new tribute who has come to the midst of the arena.

"What is it?" Finnick asks, but he's not talking to the tributes. He's talking to the open sky, where surely, there are hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of cameras just waiting for him to speak. Somewhere, Katniss Everdeen has held up her hand, telling her armies to hold back, and see what the kid has to say.

"Surprised to see me here?" Finnick continues to growl. "I guess that I am too. But it's not about me. I never would've risked my life for something like this. My father, Finnick Odair the First, was in two Hunger Games. He was eventually killed in the rebellion, because he stood up and fought for his cause, to free the districts from poverty and slavery. He was a Career, a victor, a champion, a star. Yet, he gave up his entire life just so he could free the district people.

"I'm fighting, too. I'm sticking my neck out so I can free the same people. These... children... true, are Capitol citizens. But they did nothing wrong. They simply happened to be the children of the same people who did things wrong. Rebels, think back to the Dark Days. Think back to when you failed, the Capitol landed a Hunger Games for you to play. Think back to how unfair you thought it was, because you, the children of rebels, did nothing wrong. That's exactly what these people think. I believe that I can speak for the new tributes of the Seventy-seventh Hunger Games, because I know one of them personally. I rescued her from the depths of the woods, and I nursed her back to health. She ran away, eventually, to meet her own fate... but she failed and was brought back here. She knows who she is; I'm not going to say her name. But the point is, some of us... just want the right to be free. Please, I'm begging you. While there are still eight children alive in these wretched Games, stop the battle. We can still save some of them. We can still set them free."

Finnick finishes his speech, and I can suddenly feel my heart swell in size as tears brim in my eyes. I don't know how he appeared in the arena, but I do know why. He cares. He truly cares to do this... for us.

My head drops to the ground, my gaze snaking over to the tribute plates. Maybe I can still be free, regain the life I had before. Hope isn't lost yet.

One second slowly ticks by, and then another. Slowly, as the seconds turn into minutes, and nothing happens, only an eerie silence, I begin to wonder what will happen. I had talked to Katniss Everdeen myself, and she did admit that she wanted to vote no, now. Five minutes creep by, and no one talks.

Finally, my lips murmur the words. "Please, Katniss," I plead. "Do this for your sister. She would've wanted the Games to end. Please, do this for her. Do this for Prim."

One torturous second later, as it seems to hover in front of us, an endless thread of time, the tribute plates lower themselves to the ground in a hissing silence. Three seconds creep by, and slowly, as one, the eight remaining tributes of the 77th Hunger Games trudge towards the holes in the ground.

I only make my way to Finnick, my feet crossing the distance between us. His gaze meets mine, and I wrap him in a huge hug.

"Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you."

"It's not over yet," he mumbles. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

He takes one step towards the tribute plates that have sunken into the ground, and I motion for him to go first.

He does, and suddenly, a thing leaps out of the hole and strangles him, flattening to the ground. I have long since dropped my knife, and I can only watch in horror as the new enemy attempts to strangle Finnick to the ground. I try to run forwards, but something, probably fear, has me rooted to the ground.

I squint. Is that... _Cinna?_

"No," I whisper. "No."

Mutt-Cinna turns to me, and his eyes are no longer gold. They're blood red now, and claws have sprouted from his manicured hands. I can only watch, lost in panic, as the muttation tears gash after gash in Finnick's body.

The sudden crack of the whip jerks me out of my nerve. A coil of rope snaps by my side, missing me by millimeters. This is enough to jolt me out of my stupor as I watch the most deadly tribute in the Games, Bryna Thread, throw out her whip and bind it across the mutt. With her other whip, she engages mutt-Cinna in a final battle as I carry an injured Finnick out of there.

"Hey, Angel?" he whispers, as I carry him a few feet towards the tribute plates. "It was really great meeting you."

"You're not going to die," I growl, teeth clenched, my arms complaining. "You're going to live. Please, you have the whole world ahead of you! You're only eleven! Please, Finnick! Stay alive! Just a little longer!"

"I can't," he croaks. "Angel... it hurts... please..."

I set him down gently, and when I look at the gaping wounds, I know that no doctor, no medicine, no machine can fix him again. Right there, I know that he is going to die.

Maybe it's best if he takes a little beauty with him, to wherever he's going next.

I have heard this song many times before, through the narration of the story of the 74th Hunger Games, through radios and TV shows on music, on the annual recaps of the rebellion. I have heard this song sway through the districts, being carried away on the winds, and most of all, I have heard mockingjays repeat the simple melody to each other. I know the meadow song as well as I know the back of my hand, but I have taken in consideration, more verses.

I begin to sing.

_"Deep in the meadow, up on the treetops,_

_A veil of branches, a bird pirched atop,_

_So set your hopes alight, and slip into your dreams,_

_When you surface again, they'll close the seams..."_

My voice starts out feeble and weak, but as the song evolves, the volume and confidence grows. I can feel its beauty spreading across the bloodied ground, warming this cold place at long last.

_"Here it's safe, here it's warm,_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm._

_And here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true._

_Here is the place where I love you..."_

Why not? It is true. Over the short days I've met Finnick, he's grown to be more than a friend to me. He's become someone much more.

"_Deep in the meadow, in a bush of grass,_

_The roots of trees, a beetle scuttles past._

_Tomorrow the world will be a paradise,_

_For now just dream, let your wishes fly..."_

I am approaching the peak of the song, the mountain air, the lullaby. I can feel Finnick's life escaping his body as his chest moves, very briefly, up and down. I can feel the rhythm of his heartbeat against my hands, desperately pumping to stay alive until the end of the song.

"_Here it's safe, here it's warm,_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm._

_And here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true._

_Here is the place where I love you..."_

Tears are spilling uncontrollably now as I try to blurt out the lyrics. I force myself to stop shaking. The boy who saved me might be almost dead, but I must finish the song for him.

_"Deep in the meadow, above the mountains,_

_The sparkling waters, the dazzling fountains._

_So close your eyes, and imagine the scene,_

_The golden rivers, a path of green..."_

Golden rivers, and paths of green. I might not even see them ever in my life, and needless to say, neither will Finnick. I can still sing it out, though, and make sure that it stays solid in his head.

_"Deep in the meadow, hidden far away,_

_A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray._

_Forget your woes and let your troubles lay,_

_When again it's morning, they'll wash away..."_

Finnick's eyes have fluttered shut as he tries to fight against the infection and hear the drowning cries of the mountain air. I pray, silently, in my heart, that he will still breathe and live as I keep singing.

"_Here it's safe, here it's warm,_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm._

_And here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true._

_Here is the place where I love you..."_

I have one last verse, and somewhere, deep inside me, I know that it will be the last one Finnick will live for. This is it. I have to let go, and accept death. It might not come easily, but I have to embrace it in my life.

"_Deep in the meadow, under the willow,_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow._

_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes,_

_When again they open, the sun will rise…"_

This is it. Finnick's eyes have fluttered shut and his heart has stopped moving. The entire world seems to go frigid with Finnick's lost life. My veins go cold as tears spill out uncontrollably. Everywhere, people of Panem are watching, seeing how I will react.

I spill out the last words of the song. Finnick may be dead, but he will hear it. I have to finish the song for him.

"_Here is the place where I love you..."_

Those words are barely audible, but Finnick can hear them all the same. With reluctance, I release Finnick's tattered clothes, slick with blood and tears, and tear my gaze away from him forever.

* * *

That night, they still show the pictures of all the dead tributes. Only eight are alive, the remaining sixteen all passed away. I watch them flicker past, one by one, and I feel them leave the world as their image is replaced with another's.

At the end of sixteen dead tributes, they show another one. This times, the brimming tears slide out in defiance of my wishes, to not cry at the picture of Finnick Odair the Second, the twenty-fifth tribute in the Games.

I watch his face for the full ten seconds it appears, and then he wavers from the screen and disappears from the world forever.

This battle isn't over yet. We may be out of the arena, but the entire world iis/i an arena. No, this war is just beginning, the start of the new era, the dawn of the clash between fire and ice.

* * *

There. I'm done.

After finishing a 2000-word chapter of _Signs of Anguish, _5000-word chapter of _Blazing Darkness, _and a 6000-word chapter of _Moving Heart, _with an upcoming planned chapter of _The Simplest Truth _with 7000 words plus a few more 1000-word Good Idea, Bad Idea chapters, well, let's just say that I'm glad I found the time to squeeze in this.

*sighs*

Well, the story's not done yet. No, it's just beginning.

~fk1998, who keeps forgetting that she's not supposed to sign off as TwistedJabberjays on her own account...


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**  
I should've been happy.

I should've been glad.

No, scratch that. I should've been beyond happy, beyond glad, beyond the greatest joy I had ever come to (and by the way, I haven't had much happiness in my life). I should've thanked the heavens and every god in the old myths, fell to my knees in front of the Girl on Fire, and appreciated the mockingjays in a new way.

But instead, all I feel inside is dread. Horror. Misery. I'm out of the arena, but this whole world is an arena. I'm only away from a small part of it. There were only twenty-three opponents in there. In this world, there are millions and billion.

My heart is empty.

Most people would say that I would be under depression because of Finnick's death. I denied that, because, well, it isn't true. But later, I would come to regret it, because I had no idea what I am going into now.

The thing is, I'm not half-dead, crying myself to sleep every night, being attacked by rampaging nightmares, and live in a hospital bed because of Finnick's passing away. No, the thing that bothers me the most... is Cinna.

One might say that it's because my stylist turned into a mutt. Yes, they're right. But only barely. What I fear for is beyond that, the very terror of it too horrendous to think of. I have to face it, though, because it's my duty. I feel, with the same power surging through Katniss Everdeen decades ago, that I have a role to play. I have to end this war.

Cinna is - I mean - was a mutt. All along, he had been playing me into his treacherous claws. The real Cinna had eyes lit up by fire, his imagination sparked by the leftover embers in the fireplace. He never would've dulled those emotions by dumping snow onto an innocent girl, and chilling what's left of her warm happiness, and changing her into someone different. And the entire time, this whole fact has been so obvious to me, but I had refused to accept it, because this whole concept was too miraculous to shove away. I should've shoved it away with all of my strength and dumped Cinna into an ocean of worries, where they can drown him instead of the other way around. The fact is...

Cinna can't be alive. If he had been presumed dead for fifteen years, he should've been dead and killed by the Capitol. His body... is just a shell of its former beauty, used as a costume for a mutt's soul to occupy and trick me into its sly hands. The real Cinna is dead, and all that's left is the remains of his twisted, mutated form.

Now, the real question arises. The districts couldn't have made mutt-Cinna. They might be cruel enough to throw one last Hunger Game for the children to feed its hungry mouth, but never recreate someone in a mutt form - especially someone honored, someone mourned by Katniss Everdeen herself.

There's only one theory I can think of without working my brain too hard.

The Capitol is still alive and thriving.

As soon as I manage to tell Katniss Everdeen about my latest theory, she calls for a council meeting immediately. Even me, a thirteen-year-old girl, was invited.

Now, I slouch in my seat, watching the people surrounding me. Gale Hawthorne. Peeta Mellark. Beetee. My mother, Annie. President Paylor. Plutarch Heavensbee. Fulvia Cardew. Dozens of other officials I cannot name.

I'm excited for this, oddly. I want to show the rebels, the districts, the flames, that I'm worthy. That I'll take down my home. That I'll defeat them and humiliate them in the worst ways possible. That I wouldn't hesitate to kill one of my breed.

Then comes the line that changes everything.

"We need to eliminate the hidden Capitol immediately," Katniss Everdeen declares. "We need to control the small empire they manage to hold, and kill the last of their kind. We need to take them prisoner, interrogate about their headquarters. We will not rest until every last one of them is dead!"

This statement is so similar to ones I had heard before, and I'm more than familiar with that. My eyes widen in shock, and realize that the Mockingjay wants to kill them all. Showing no mercy, and destroy their hideout completely. Wipe the remains of the hidden Capitol from Panem's history.

I hadn't expected this. I had expected war prisoners, not direct murder. I had expected at least some show of kindness the Girl on Fire had showed to us, the last tributes of the last Hunger Game. I hadn't expected... a full-out blown war between the rebel soldiers and the Capitol.

How ironic. The rebels are the ones fighting back, not the other way around.

"Stop," I croak, but in the din of cheers that had arisen for the Mockingjay, my voice is unheard among the cacophonies of others. "Stop!" I yell one more time.

Slowly, one person nudges another, and a blissful silence welcomes me to the podium. I swallow hard and rise to my feet. Even standing up, I'm shorter than Gale Hawthorne, sitting down beside me.

But what he doesn't have - and what the rest of the rebels don't have - is my will. My motive. My cause to fight.

"I'm not fire," I say simply. Blank looks shoot at me from across the room. I swallow my fears and keep going. "I'm not one of you guys. Fire only destroys and destroys, surging forwards, never looking back at the trail of destruction it has left behind. Smoking ashes, still burning woodlands... I'm not like that. I do it carefully, look at the last few steps I had just taken. I look forwards, seeing where I'm headed into. I look at where I am right now, and what I should do. I'm not a beast, only blindly stepping into enemy territory.

"Both of you - Capitol and rebel - have one thing in common: the fire. The flames leap inside you, gnawing your heart out, just forcing you to devour one more thread of your enemies. One side attacks, and the other fights back. One side defends themselves, the other pushes in harder. That's all the battlefield is made of: hundreds and hundreds of spirits and souls, children of the same fire. I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be made into one. I don't want to be controlled!

"I just want to be me, and no one else! I just want to feel the true power of being alive. All my life, I had been played, into one side's hands, and then another. I want to make my own decisions, my own paths for my future and destiny to come. I want to walk my own road to death, and I don't want anyone else accompanying me.

"Some of you will think that this is crazy. But I swear, I'm not. I just want to live a life of my own, in peace and silence. Isn't that what you all fought for? To live in an era of peace and love? This isn't peace! This isn't love! This isn't silence! What you are planning right now, is a massacre. A bloodshed of loved ones being torn away from each other. Millions of battle cries wailing to death. Is it just too much to ask to make a compromise? Is it too much to ask to at least try for a peace treaty, and give them a chance? Is it just too much to ask to be free?

"I'm begging you, at least give them a chance, to live out their lives, and be free!"

Under the table, my hands clench into fists. This has to be a battle that I have to win, for Finnick, for his father, for generations upon generations of people who fought for the same side I do now. Capitol or rebel, or any other side... are all fighting for this cause.

We are the direct opposite of fire, fueled by anger and a need for revenge. No, we are the children of snow, of ice, of the cool autumn wind that chills our bones. We can eliminate our fears and anger and everything in between, we can cool down even the most furious people. Snow isn't all that bad, and I should know, because I am one.

I can't lose this battle. The flames had already made fun of me once, taking away the people I love. Everyone knows that fire melts snow... but everyone also knows that when snow turns to water and salty tears... they can douse even the strongest rages of fire.

* * *

Guess what? The Capitol is back.

Okay, sorry for not updating, I've been suffering from a huge case of writer's block lately and I've escaped to the Corner of Doom and Bloodshed and Migrating Monarch Butterflies, AKA the world of Asclepia, or Trauma Center/Trauma Team. So, yeah. Want to see what I've been doing lately? Check out my TwistedJabberjays account.

Ah, yes, speaking of Trauma Center, if anyone can find a TC nugget in this chapter, I'll write Twenty-One faster. Hint: it doesn't have anything to do with Trauma Team, unfortunately, so it's not the Cinna-shell thing that you were probably thinking of with Rosalia Rossellini and Twisted Rosalia and all.

ANYWAYS... yeah. Oh, and lemonsmania, since you found this, can you make an account and review with that since... well... I wanna talk to you? Thanks!


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

When you capture a mutt, one of the first words it'll utter is normally to squeal on its things.

Of course, regular mutts are mutations of animals, not humans, and cannot talk, but with the exception of the jabberjays. But when a mutt is built to talk, they tend to blabber on everything... following human nature... no matter what one's personality is.

So naturally, Cinna told the rebels everything: the headquarters of the fallen Capitol, the leaders in charge, the faces of the people in their army. Katniss Everdeen has decided to waste no time in stopping the Capitol forever, and she obviously has the rebels on her side, and also, just as obvious, ignored my words earlier today. Tonight, fireworks are blooming over the cloudless night sky, obscuring the moon from my view. I can hear singing from the grounds, the anthem used for the first rebellion, and now, will be used to crush the Capitol again, this time to its last existence.

_"Do you hear the bells? The clanging in the air?  
It masks the cries of sorrow, filled with tears and despair..."_

I hear the bells, loud and clear. They ring, blasting an infinite wave of sound through the walls, the floors, the windows, and my ears. Briefly I wonder if the remains of the Capitol will hear it and anticipate a battle coming, but then I groan. Today is the anniversary of the districts' complete win over their controller. Of course, fireworks will be going off louder than ever, and the chorus of the rebellion anthem will be heard from all corners of Panem.

_"Out of the ashes we have risen again, to once more light a flame.  
It is time now to stand up, things will not be the same..."_

... Things will never be the same. When the rebels obliterate the Capitol forever, I will be saying goodbye to my kin and my clan that has kept me both safe and dangerous for thirteen years. I roll over in my sleep, and I am sure that I am one of the few people trying to rest. The rebellion is tomorrow, at twilight. I'm not sure why, but I do believe that fire burns brighter in the darkness... I shudder as I think of the helpless and trapped Capitol, watching flames of anger roar around them like a raging animal, as doom settles over them all. They cannot see in the dark, for the day is their domain, but not anymore... soon, the rebels will take the entire day over.

_"Get up on your feet, let the Mockingjay take flight,  
Bear your arms and bear them good, get ready to fight,  
For it is a flame we must ignite, a flame we must ignite!"_

Let the Mockingjay take flight, huh? Doomsday will come to us all if she does.

_"Running and hiding, spying with ease,  
Jumping and spreading a deadly disease..."_

I can certainly see the disease: slowly developing over the crests and falls of the land, slowly eating away everything... brainwashing the world into the angry flames...

_"Not one you could think of, oh no, it's fire you'll catch,  
Bring in your weapons, and close the latch..."_

Fire. The one thing in the world I fear is about to consume us all.

_"Get up on your feet, let the Mockingjay take flight,  
Bear your arms and bear them good, get ready to fight,  
For it is a flame we must ignite, a flame we must ignite!"_

_"Take to the air, take to the skies,  
If we burn, you'll burn, no matter who dies..."_

My heart clutches in dread as I remember the frail body of Finnick, scratched and bleeding from the wounds mutt-Cinna had made. I remember Loreka, dead, to help me escape. All those lives lost over the years... I was told that my mother died too.

_"Death is a serious thing, life is not a game,  
Spread this rebellion on and on, you must help feed the flame."_

No, life is a game. This entire world is a Hunger Game, when you fight and fight and never look back at the damage caused in the wake, and only kill and murder to slay your opponents, until only one person is left. Then he will die too, and that will be the end of human existence.

_"Get up on your feet, let the Mockingjay take flight,  
Bear your arms and bear them good, get ready to fight,  
For it is a flame we must ignite, a flame we must ignite!"_

I have my own song, one my mother used to sing to me when I was little. It's one of the few memories I have left of her, but burned deeply into my memory. Tears suddenly fly to my eyes and soak into the smooth coverings of my pillow as I try to remember her face... I can't see it in my head. All the woes I've gone through these days... have pushed her memory from my mind. All I remember of her now is... her voice. Singing beautifully, fluttering the soft grass of the meadows, so smooth and lovely, that even the birds outside perch to listen... I only remember its name: _Take to the Sky, Rebels Fly..._

So amazing and pretty... I remember the soft tune it starts with, that wonderful melody that is the prelude of a brighter day to come...

_"Don't turn our backs on injustice, don't beg, don't bite your tongue..."_

And slowly, I slip off to sleep and drift in that miraculous moment when nothing is wrong... but tomorrow, they will be.

Tomorrow, I will lose my family forever.

* * *

Yes, I understand it's short. I know I haven't been keeping up with this lately, I'm sorry. But this... call it the prelude before the actual rebellion happens. Go ahead, call Katniss OOC, call me a bad writer for making other people OOC, making miraculous things happen, etc... but... *shrugs* I've exhausted all the descriptive writing I have after The Song of Death.

Anyways... credit for this... the first, complete rebellion anthem was written by lemonsmania on the STACKS, the start of the second one will be displayed in full in the next chapter, and is written by Puppyninja12, the two winners of my anthem contest. Now... *sighs and goes back to mirroring Trauma Team videos*


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

Dawn. The break between night and day, the borders between dark and light. Dawn is when life begins to thrive as the nocturnal creatures settle down into their homes and burrows. Dawn is when the soft morning light gently spills across the horizon of this hemisphere, spreading its golden glow in every way. Dawn is the birth of a new morning, a new day. But for me, dawn is when I am the most vulnerable in.

Dawn is when my thoughts invade me, when the guilt from the previous days soak through my thin layer of skin, the only protection I have from the outside foreigners. Today, I stare out the window, unable to process what will happen later. Katniss Everdeen hasn't changed her mind about crushing the Capitol forever. She has somehow managed to knock sense into me… their creation, mutt-Cinna, killed the only friend I have in the world. Finnick. Shouldn't that count for something? Momentarily, I feel the same power absorbing into my veins, and I suddenly realize… that protesting against the mockingjay is useless.

I have to stick with the rebellion.

The moon slowly gives way to the sun as morning arrives. I still sit at the windowsill, unable to look away at the creases of nature beyond the Capitol borders. Out there, the forests are undisturbed, left to their natural patterns. Out there, the birds and the snakes and the rabbits and squirrels and lynxes… they're all free. Free to roam the world, free from the restrictions that hold me to this world, free from the burdens that still rest on my shoulders. I thought that by escaping the arena, I could be free, and finally take to the skies at last, soaring and laughing like the wind blowing past my wings.

I'm not free, and I've got a lot of work to do before I really can be free.

The gentle, lovely song still sings softly in my head in its smooth melody, its imprints still leftover from last night. Slowly, I remove myself from the window, and walk out the door. Maybe fresh air can help me, its cool breeze clear the fog away from my mind. Right now, I'm utterly confused, stuck between the line of either to act my own way, or to take part in Katniss Everdeen's rebellion.

I slowly lower my head. The mockingjay doesn't trust me. I know she doesn't. She doesn't know if I'm up to the job of leading my own army, or even being a soldier in one. No, I have to prove her wrong. I have to show her that I'm capable, that I'm stronger than any soldier under her control.

I have to show her who I truly am.

The realization comes to me. If I want the mockingjay's respect, I'll have to murder my kin, the only family and home I have left.

"Take this," Katniss orders. She shoves a small bomb into my hands, as she had done to the line of hundreds of people before me, and hundreds after. "On your maps, we have marked a place where you should put these. Once you have completed that, get the hell out of there. The moment you're all back, the bombs explode."

That's her plan: burying the Capitol in dust and stone, debris falling their way down to doom. The small pocket of the Capitol is built underground, beneath of shelf of rock and a collapsed building. We got mutt-Cinna to squeal about it, and we've realized that it's truly fragile. We don't even need to attack for it to go down in hopeless rubble. But Katniss Everdeen is paranoid indeed, and doesn't want to waste a second into destroying the place.

I will take part in it.

I've experienced fear before. Fear, gnawing at my heart when a knife is near, aimed at me; fear, scratching away at my feeble body, as I watched Finnick pass away into the stars. But this fear is more advanced and even more twisted and mutated, into fear I cannot even recognize. It starts like a shudder, then a cold feeling up my spine, and a growing numbness. Tomorrow, at this time, I will be one of the only Capitol citizens alive.

_Don't turn our backs on injustice, don't beg, don't bite your tongue._

_Be a torch, ablaze in the spotlight, scream for the children, for the young._

There are _children _down there. Helpless, defenseless children, just like I was, in the arena. I delve deeper into the ruins of the cracked building, looking for the spot I'm supposed to prime my bomb in. Beneath the ground, I can almost feel the life surging through it. Newborns and toddlers and kids and teenagers live down there like rats, doing all they can to stay alive, and afraid to show themselves to the real world in fear of utter destruction. Suddenly, I start having second thoughts.

_Stand tall, never surrender, we hold our hearts with pride._

_Holding beloveds, being their defender, waiting for the darkness to reside._

Why has Katniss Everdeen given me one of the hardest bombs to prime? I glance nervously at the other soldiers, who have all scuttled off to their locations, and some are already heading back. I swallow down my fear of being alone in this creaky place and keep pushing forwards.

I scrabble down a sloped hill, and find the spot I'm supposed to prime my bomb in. I immediately begin manipulating with the bomb's metal frames, getting it to stick with the brittle rock. When it explodes in symphony and simultaneously with the rest of the bombs, the entire ground will go down and the entire army will launch forwards to fight.

_With a heart as true as the closest light, honesty shall build our walls._

_With eyes like a beacon in the night, we'll pick up what was born to fall._

I keep up the work, hammering the metal plates into the stone. It's hard work, and sweat rolls down the back of my head, but I keep it up. Five minutes in, and a crackling sound in my earpiece enters my head.

"_Base Station to Angel Snow, are you finished?"_

I swallow. "Not yet," I whisper, in fear of being heard. "Almost."

"_Please finish soon. You are among the last two soldiers still in."_

The last two? Panic arises in my head and I immediately feel lightheaded. _I have to keep going._

I finally finish. "I'm done!" I sigh. "Heading back!"

"_Good work. Th-"_

The voice cuts off. Huh? I check my earpiece, and the green light tells me that it's functioning properly.

"Base Station, are you alright?" I ask, panicking.

"_They… knew… we were coming…" _Suddenly, the voice stops and a firmer voice takes over. Gale Hawthorne's. _"Snow and Crane, our wires are not functioning properly. I repeat, our bomb system is down."_

My eyes widen. No. No way. Without the system, the bombs can't detonate. Which means that…

"_They knew we were coming. Mutt-Cinna must've told them in some way! Angel, listen. Find Lorenzo and detonate the bombs by hand. It's the only way!"_

The connection drops.

Lorenzo? Lorenzo's in here two? I growl in frustration and realize that Katniss had done this to see if we're up for the fight.

_Our lives are insignificant, we're worth a speck of dust._

_But in Panem's glory we're magnificent, it's more than I, it's us._

Somewhere, somehow, I bump into Lorenzo's huddled form. His eyes tell me the answer I need; he has heard Gale's orders too.

"The bombs are intertwined with each other," he tells me. "If one goes off, they all go off. All we need to do is to find a bomb, and detonate it!"

"How?" I ask desperately. "Those bombs are camouflaged! It'll take ages to find them! I only know mine, and it's too far! If the Capitol knew we were coming… we don't have much time."

"Mine's a few minutes off," says Lorenzo quickly. He runs off, and I have to struggle to catch up. We find the bomb, camouflaged perfectly with the steel beams. But I see people, trailing from a small hole in the walls.

"But it's right at the entrance of their civilization. If we're going to detonate it…"

Right now we're hidden away safely in a shelf of rock, perched out of sight. In order to get down to the bomb, we'd have to run right into the thick of things. When Lorenzo first set the bomb, people weren't here. But now they're alarmed and know that we're coming…

"We need a distraction," I breathe.

"I'll distract them. You detonate it," says Lorenzo briskly.

"Huh?" I gape in shock, and his meaning sets in. "No! You're not going in there alone! _They'll kill you!"_

"This is a necessary sacrifice," says Lorenzo softly. "The Capitol, they've killed too many. You've seen how brutal they are. They're not the helpless people you think they are, Angel. Believe in this. Believe in the cause we're fighting for. Believe…"

And he darts off.

_If we die, then in death we shall lie, if we fall, then falling we'll see why._

_But for another's sake, take to the sky!_

Confusion turns to disbelief in the Capitol's eyes as they see Lorenzo invading their territory. Within seconds, the area has emptied. Choking back tears, I drop down and begin to detonate the bomb by hand. I know that this has come to an end. This is the day for both of us. If the bombs explode, I'll be carried with the explosion.

Our lives will come to the end.

My fingers scramble around, toying with the bomb easily. Memories race through my head, fleeting images of Loreka Crane, his dead body being carried past me… I remember… the very words that he had once spoken to me: _I want to believe._

I want to believe in humanity. I want to believe in survival. I want to believe in justice and freedom, the downfall of cruelty and evil. But where goodness thrives, something will always contaminate it. But… I believe that one day… it will all come to an end.

I can hear the far-off cries of Lorenzo as he ends up in the same position as his brother. Tears fill my eyes and sting them as I remember his last words… _Believe in this. Believe in the cause we're fighting for. Believe…_

I have to go on. To life or death, this is my destiny, although where I am heading for is unclear. Darkness is beginning to settle, but no torchlight keeps the skies bright. Is this an omen of death, an ominous prophecy that will tell the dark days to come? I remember the dawn, making me so vulnerable… is dusk simply making me _invulnerable? _Is this when I can think, alone in my head, and come to the last decision that will end a civilization, one way or another?

I have come to the last wire on the bomb. If I snip the wire, all of the bomb's energy and fiery flames will carry out with hundreds of others as they bring this civilization to an end. I think of what they had done already, making mutt-Cinna, killing Finnick, and now adding Lorenzo to that list… The tears come unconditionally now, flowing down my cheeks. When I snip this wire, hundreds of lives will be extinguished instantly, along with my own.

Lorenzo is already dead, off to join his brother somewhere in the galaxy, or the universe. My mother, grandfather, and sister I had never got to know… and Finnick. All of my loved ones… are gone. All of them are killed out of cruelty, or as a sacrifice for someone else to see a brighter day. The unknown future beckons, and I know that I have to do this. For Loreka, who died so I could escape. For Finnick, who took my place in death. For Lorenzo, who sacrificed himself so that the world would be a better place.

I cut the wire.

And the explosion ripples across the structure, causing debris and dust to fly in every which direction, finally set free at last. I fly backwards as my song starts to fade, and the entire world blooms into an undistinguishable darkness.

_For Panem, oh Panem, a people for whom I'd die…_

* * *

Knock yourself out. No, Angel's not dead. *gasps arise* Yes, you heard right. I'm not killing her... wow. I think Tomoe has really gotten into my head lately.

Tomoe: It's against the path of honor to kill your characters!

... if I recall right, you snatched a broadsword from Hanzou and tried to kill a ninja with it.

Anyways, good news is... this fanfic will be finished before next Friday! Go thank Sage12797 for flooding the Talk Board... *grumbles*

~fighterkirby


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